A Fierce Allegiance
by keelan august
Summary: a space opera of monumental proportions...
1. The Degenerate

**Chapter 1: The Degenerate**

Sartre's was filled with the usual amalgam of City denizens: legalized harlots in full-body erotisuits, designed to entice and intoxicate not only by sight but by pheromone-enhancers as well; holo bookies, their visors pulled low and their fingers grimy with black market sim-sweat, making their prints on clients' comcards virtually untraceable; First tier aristos pretending to slum but protected by unobtrusive catmen, those synthesized trained assassins who sometimes hired themselves out as bodyguards to the highest bidder.

Catmen always made his shoulders twitch. Although he had once toyed with the idea of joining their elite forces, he was a bit repulsed by the idea of some hack neurist playing with his 'trodes – he certainly couldn't afford the higher-end medics. And he certainly didn't want a body-shop sleaze wreaking havoc with his internals. So the catman synth idea had been a no-go.

Still, their glowing golden eyes and lithe grace never failed to fascinate him.

The assassins, in turn, gave him wide berth. Maybe they recognized one of their kind, if not in body, then in spirit. Or perhaps they were all aware of the urban myth that touted the blond conman as their current leader's undisputed saviour in a fiasco several years back. Whatever the case, Mitsu R'Ikeda often walked into clubs such as these unmolested - protected by an unspoken camaraderie he shared with the City's most respected, if not feared, inhabitants.

Mitsu watched his client leave through half-lidded eyes, jaw clenched in irritation. Then he started, stood up and headed for the stim room, wondering briefly why he suddenly felt compelled to do so. It wasn't as if he were hard up for a hit at the moment. And he really had no time for this. His meeting with Benito had gone as smoothly as usual. Which meant that it had not gone smoothly at all. Mitsu needed to bivouac with his crew and and complete the run before Benito got it in his head to rat them out.

But the unexpected niggling in the back of his mind was relentless, urging him to the stim booths, and a runner never questioned his instincts. Of course, some would say that Mitsu's instincts got him into hot water more than it got him out, and that his fame as one of the most successful smugglers in the known cosmos was due more to his crew than to his enviable, albeit sporadic, good luck.

Ah, but life would be so boring without a little danger to spice it up… 

Mitsu grinned and adopted a cocky gait as he wended his way through the milieu. As he passed by the holo tables, he dared to wink wickedly at Charybdis, the menacing catman who was the undisputed Shah of the pride. It was this familiarity that encouraged the rumors that there was Bushido between the two.

The assassin blinked back, his only acknowledgement, but there was wry humor conveyed in that blink. As Mitsu moved past him, he discovered the reason for Char's mood. The usually stoic catman was currently in the employ of one Senator Sabat, an infamously hedonistic Eurasian who spent much of his hard-earned bribes the old-fashioned way: gambling and drinking into oblivion. A shnockered client, especially an aristo, was an easy client - no fights to break up - and catmen were able to enjoy a certain laxity in their guard. Mitsu gave Char a covert thumbs up in congratulations and moved on.

He carefully avoided the bar. Besides all the tempting new beverages Hypno was sure to have concocted, there were the bar rats to consider. Mitsu had had assignations with most of them, and he was in no mood to play eye tag right now. He did spot a luscious victim, alone and ripe for the taking, two stools down, but he hated redheads, especially synth ones.

_To the stim rooms for two clicks and I'm outta here_, he promised himself.

From behind the two-way mirrored glass, she watched him conclude his business and walk straight for her cubbyhole. Either he had been tipped off to her presence or it was entirely too smoky in the place for him to realize that the booth was taken. At his double take upon seeing the blinking red light that signaled the cubby's occupancy, she figured it was the latter.

_Must thank Sartre for the lack of ventilation in this place_, she purred to herself in satisfaction.

She felt his hesitation and did a quick mental inventory of herself. Nothing was out of place as far as she remembered so she put on her brightest, most fatuous smile and settled into the couch in what she hoped was a convincingly casual pose. She keyed the controls to "view-all", allowing the man visible access to the private cubby's interior. Then she beckoned with her head for him to enter. He seemed to shrug then palmed the shield.

An instant blast of noise and alc stench assailed her then the shield was back in place, ensconcing the two strangers in a bubble of intimacy and stim smoke. Wordlessly, she offered him a stick but he declined with a quirk of his mouth and produced a cartridge of his own. She reached forward with a light, which he did accept, then both leaned back in their respective couches to inhale. They shared the conspiratorial smile of fellow stim addicts.

There was something about her that was intriguing. Mitsu couldn't place it yet, a first for the usually perceptive conman. He had felt her pull even as he entered the room. Actually, it had been more of a scratchy itch at the base of his skull more than anything, and it was this that had sent him directly to the cubby. He hadn't known that his itch would produce a woman.

And this was definitely a woman, not some doped-up adolescent aristo out looking for her first lay and definitely not some bar rat desperate for a quick fix. If Mitsu hadn't just upgraded his wetware or if he hadn't plugged in the enhanced scanner he'd lifted from Cain, he would have had her pegged as a very expensive synth clone planted by Sartre to lure customers in. But that wasn't Sartre's style - he had customers aplenty. Plus, this woman did not have the glassy, vidscreen sheen on her eyes that even the most advanced of technology could not eradicate from clones even now. She did have that plastic smile on her face, though. Mitsu decided to probe, but with caution.

"Ha'llai," he began, two fingers to his temple in the galactic gesture of greeting.

"We're past formalities, sir, since you've agreed to share my cubby," she replied coolly, her eyes appraising him sharply but the empty smile still on her face.

"In that case, let's drop the 'sir'. It's Mitsu."

"He'la, Mitsu. Getting in a fix before blast off?"

"What?" Then Mitsu remembered the pilot pin he had swiped from his roomie and affixed onto his lapel to get past the recon sentries the night before. Apparently he had not returned it. And Jed was scheduled for duty today.

_Shit, I'm gonna get it._

"It's not mine, really..."

"I know."

"I was holding it for --- how'd you know?" The blonde was instantly on the alert. Guardians were everywhere these days and he was in the middle of a run. If this was a sting...

"Real pilots wear their pins on the left. I know. I've dated more than my share."

The woman dragged red-clawed fingers through her long black hair and pouted suggestively. It was a calculated move to disarm him and Mitsu recognized it as such. Still, he remained intrigued and the itch at the base of his spine hadn't reached red alert status yet. He pressed on.

"Haven't seen you here before. You a bookie?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Dunno. That bulge in your left breast pocket? Looks like an Atropos comlink."

The woman lost her languid pose for a nanosecond, her pupils striating in surprise. She recovered almost instantaneously, though, crossing long legs encased in body-hugging plasticine and shifting sensually on the couch. Mitsu did notice that she had managed to mask her left shoulder in the shadows.

"You must be mistaken. How would someone like me have access to hardware like that?" She tried to soften the hard edge that was creeping into her crafted persona.

"Anything can be had in the City if you just know where to look."

"Indeed."

Curiouser and curiouser. Mitsu's eyes narrowed fractionally. The woman was proving to be quite the enigma. She knew about pilots and had an air of caution and alertness about her that even her artful nonchalance could not mask. And she kept her hair long, past her waist, so definitely not an aristo. Not a bookie, huh? A runner, then? But Mitsu could've sworn he knew everyone in the Guild. And who could miss a knockout like this one? No, definitely not a runner. Flyer gone rogue? Some aristo's cast-off demimondaine fishing for a new keeper?

From this angle, the conman couldn't tell if she was 'troded or not. It would have given him some sense of security if he had that information. It wasn't as if trust came cheaply anymore, especially not in the City, but orgamechs usually had their own honor code and weren't liable to play Pilate on each other. Mitsu's eyes narrowed slightly as the woman continued to watch him. The itch was becoming uncomfortable.

"So, Mitsu," she growled low in her throat, "do you like what you see?"

"You're changing the subject."

"I didn't know we were on a subject worth pursuing."

"It's customary to exchange creds upon first contact."

"I don't need to be reminded of galactic etiquette."

"Then use it." Mitsu crushed his stim out in one of the canisters provided and glared at the woman. Now that he'd grown accustomed to the dark and the smoke, he was able to observe her more closely and he realized that there was something off about her.

It wasn't just the indifferent act she was putting one, the one that kept slipping at every inquiry as to her identity. There was something else. Something not quite right. Mitsu's hackles rose and he stood up to leave. The presentiment that had propelled him to the stim booth was now cautioning him to get the hell out. Fickle presentiment.

"Listen, lady," Mitsu held up a hand as she attempted to stop him with an alarmed hand. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I'm not in the mood. Thanks for the booth and the eye candy, though." He let his gaze travel up and down her body insolently.

The woman gritted her teeth at the obvious dismissal but managed to maintain her poise. She took another drag from the stim stick, vacuous smile intact although fraying at the edges, and tried another tack. "What's wrong? Am I setting the legendary Mitsu R'Ikeda on edge?"

The conman's internal alarm system hit overdrive. She knew who he was, had probably known all along. She was toying with him. And at the moment of his dawning realization, her smile widened. There was no trace of fatuousness now; it was purely predatory. Mitsu was familiar with that smile. He had practiced it himself many times when confronting particularly recalcitrant clients. Anger spiraled through him like a juiced 'trode.

"Who sent you?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Ah, that is the million credit question, isn't it?"

"I'll ask again nicely. And I don't do nice the third time around. Who sent you?"

"Tetchy, aren't we?" The woman did not flinch at his enraged tone. In fact, she actually sunk deeper into the couch and closed her eyes in apparent unconcern. The smirk still laced her lips and she raised her hand to enjoy her stim stick once more.

"And about to get tetchier!"

Before she could blink, the woman found her ashed-out stick smoldering on the couch not inches from her thigh and an enraged conman clutching at her biceps, looming over her like the wrath of god. Wild violet eyes, glinting with golden 'trode static, bored into hers. For the first time since the mission began, she began to doubt the wisdom of those who had sent her to procure the target.

"Now, one last time: who sent you? Who are you? What do you want from me?" Mitsu punctuated each question with a ferocious shake.

She refused to be cowed. Damn de Medici! He didn't need this bastard! She didn't care who he was affiliated with. As far as she could tell, the target was a has-been, a reject model, a jacked-up techie who maybe was once one of the elite but now looked like he'd been dragged through places even her utility droid would disdain. This beast – this _orgamech_! – should be shot for laying a hand on her! She'd had it. Enough was enough. Game over.

With a move that could have proved lethal had she not been under strict orders, the woman bucked on the couch, throwing Mitsu off balance, then raised her legs and clamped them tight around his neck. She took great satisfaction in watching his face turn blue. It wasn't until his grip on her arms loosened reluctantly that she relinquished her hold on his windpipe as well.

Mitsu fell to his knees, clutching at his neck and wheezing. _That bitch! That motherlovin' bitch nearly killed me! What the - ?_

His eyes traveled from the tips of her boots up to her glowering face. She towered over him like an avenging Amazon, her gaze hot with kindled anger. Then, scornfully, deliberately, she palmed her left shoulder with her right hand and the holo dissipated. Mitsu paled.

_Shit._

Adieu to the long, black hair. Good-bye to the sultry, come-hither eyes. Sayonara to the titillating plasticine bodysuit. In their place was a commanding figure with a shock of close-cropped red hair, icy green eyes and a painfully familiar uniform.

_Shit, shit, shit._

"Get up, Mitsuru Ikeda. Party's over. It's time to go home."

If Mitsu entertained any doubts about the woman's intentions, her use of his true name dispelled them. As she hauled him none too gently on his feet and slapped a pair of magnetic binders on his wrists, the conman flicked his blond ponytail behind his shoulder and snarled.

"Lady, I'm gonna enjoy tearing that pretty little head of yours from your spine."

The woman had the audacity to laugh in his face scornfully. "I'd like to see you try."


	2. The Crew

Chapter 2: The Crew

**Chapter 2:The Crew**

[Avalon, the last megalopolis on Earth to survive the Collapse, consists of three levels, which explains not only its architecture but its socio-economic hierarchy as well.]

[First tier is, understandably, at the top and located 5,000 meters from Avalon's lowest point.It is an intricate web of aerial highways twining through towering spires that sway slightly in the harsh winds of that altitude.Housed in these glass and plasticrene Valhallas are the members of the First Families: founders, leaders and controllers of Avalon.They are the last of the purestrain Empaths and these self-styled glitterati make the policies, administer justice and act as beneficent guardians of all.They are also known as aristos.]

[Cloaked in a sterile world and a blind belief in their own importance, most First tiers – or Firsters – do not realize that the almost feudal society they have erected is causing discontent and dissension among those below.History always repeats itself because people never take the time to learn.First tier's Enclave advocate is Giancarlo de Medici.]

[Second tier is located exactly 500 meters beneath First tier's last bastion.Not as pristine or as manicured as its neighbors above, Second tier is nevertheless privy to certain amenities because of the service it provides.It is the heart of Avalon because this is where the Academy resides.]

[During the immediate years succeeding the Collapse, when martial law was the only chance for survival, many Firsters commissioned talented – if not purestrain – individuals to protect them from mutants and, as the case always is during times of upheaval, from each other.The Academy was created by the First Families to be a training center for their private armies.Eventually, as stability was regained and a truce among the Families was forged, the Academy's function evolved into one less militaristic.]

[Today, it boasts over 150 guilds.Students can specialize in myriad disciplines, from archeology to neuro-enhancement.In the Academy, democracy is encouraged and tier prejudice is not tolerated.However, it is still extremely difficult for Third Tiers to enter its hallowed halls.One has to be petitioned by an aristo to get in.That, or procure certain favors for the proper people.Nuada D'Argent is the Academy president and Second tier's Enclave advocate.]

[Third tier is located at sea level and some of it is actually underwater.This gives Third tier a distinctly memorable aroma.It is made up of the remnants of eras past and therefore has the look of an old woman trying on new finery.Flashing neoware and old-fashioned paper billboards vie for tourist attention. Concrete buildings are outfitted with the latest tech screens but still retain old-world plumbing.It is just as likely to hitch a ride on an automobile as it is to hop on a hover.Third tier is more commonly known as the City.]

[Third tier denizens are as diverse and contradictory as their surroundings.One can rub elbows with fallen aristos as well as cutthroat pirates in the same bar.That dashing young buck could perhaps be a slave runner in disguise.There are many stories ripe for the plucking in the City but they will remain untold because the City prides itself in its anonymity.Here, one can hide from a cuckolded husband, the law or one's past with none the wiser.]

[Anything can be had in the City: a new plaything, a new deviancy, a new life.It's all there…for a price.And, even though they are scorned and condemned by the upper echelons, City dwellers savor the irony of the slumming aristos or the wide-eyed Second tiers who grace their pot-holed asphalt streets every single night.Third tier has its own brand of justice.Therefore, its Enclave advocate is Loki Swift, Thieves Guild master.]

[end of History sequence.]

Charybdis pulled the 'trodes from his port and closed his eyes.It was more information than he had planned to upload but once he'd started the sequence, it proved too absorbing to stop.Data overload, indeed.Still he had the presence of mind to cover his tracks and, after his brief rest, the catman's retractable claws flew furiously across the keypad to erase all trace of his presence on the Hub.

The hover cab sped silently through the empty City streets.Third tier never really came to life until the sun went down.Charybdis smiled to himself.Daytime was the perfect time to access data on the Hub; there was never very much traffic online before noon.And by plugging in while in a moving vehicle, it made it that much harder for Hub Guardians to trace him.

Several pride members had sniffed disdainfully at his fascination of Avalon's past, but Charybdis knew that information was the key to any successful venture.And he had loftier goals than being a mere Shah of the pride.

Today was not a day for intrigue and conspiracy, however.Today was reconnaissance.Charybdis had been witness to the altercation at Sartre's the night before and he needed to see how it would all play out.As a catman and Third tier citizen, he had no access to direct aboveside data.In fact, the History sequence he had just uploaded was a hacked file.Still, there were other places from which to garner information.How convenient it was that one of these places happened to be the scene of the crime.

Charybdis tapped at the keypad in front of him and alerted the hover cab driver of his final destination.

Sartre's in the daylight looked nothing like its nighttime doppelganger.The neoware ad and its lurid glare were not in evidence and the building's red brick façade, now devoid of the distracting artificiality, glowed warmly under the summer sun. From the outside, the bar actually exuded an aura of comfort and benevolence, a bit akin to sitting on a favorite uncle's knee.However, as with some uncles and some knees, the bar had its secret seedy side and only the bold of heart or the stupid frequented the place with regularity.Chaybdis liked to think he fell under the former category.

The catman emerged from the cab, tipped the driver, and shrugged deeper into his voluminous cloak.Then he entered the club and made directly for the bar.Hypno handed him a drink, Sartre sat down next to him, and the three enjoyed a companionable quiet as they waited.They didn't have to wait very long.

"Here they come.Right on schedule."

"But without their beloved leader."

"Ah, so you didn't miss that little show last night?"

"Couldn't help it. R'Ikeda was caterwauling his head off like a virj in a brothel."

"Why didn't you do anything about it?"

"It's your club."

"You're his gokenin."

"That's never been verified."

The club owner and the catman exchanged pithy looks over their drinks then dropped that topic of conversation.It was getting dangerously close to breaking the City's unspoken Code of anonymity and laissez faire.Before the silence grew any more strained, Hypno refilled their glasses with his latest concoction.The bartender smiled easily, his golden reptilian eyes unblinking.

"I can't believe you still let them in, after all the marks they owe you." Hypno addressed his boss.

"Good for business."

"You've got to be joking."

"Nah.See here…they're a bunch of toughs, right?And they do know how to brawl.I figure I keep them around, let 'em slide on a coupla tabs and they come regular, stand around looking scary.Keep the rest of the customers either safe and happy-feelin' or too scared shitless to make a fuss.Know what'm sayin'?"

"It's your world, Sartre.We all just want to live in it."

"Don't you all!" 

The diminutive club owner winked at his bartender and right-hand man who, in turn, finished polishing off the last of the shot glasses then looked resignedly to the door.The raucous revelry from beyond increased in volume steadily, and when the entrance finally swung open, Hypno and Sartre had the plastic smiles as befitted their profession firmly in place.Charybdis was expressionless but his catlike ears twitched in anticipation of the fun to come.One could always count on R'Ikeda's boys to provide amusement. 

"Hoi, Suka!I hope ya gots lots of marks, man.Coz I'm ready to drink this place dry!"

"Aye, red!Git your arse movin'!We haven't got all day!"

"Guys?Is Suka buying today? Dat's too sweet!"

"Hiro, whassup wit' yo sib?He so good he gots to walk five steps behind us like some goddamn aristo?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!Here speaks the voice of reason."

At this remark, a general hoot of good-natured derision ensued but subsided almost immediately.Holding his place as rear guard and dragging his feet slowly, Kazuya Hasukawa could almost imagine his damnable brother calming down the masses with his perpetually amused smirk.He hated his brother.

"As I was saying, my comrades, as the voice of reason in our merry band of misfits and miscreants, it is my duty to prevent dissension amongst the ranks by doing…this!"

Without further warning, Kazuya Hasukawa found himself plucked from the end of the line by a strong grasp to his collar and shoved unceremoniously into the dimly-lit depths of Sartre's club.As his eyes adjusted from outside glare to indoor murk, Kazuya freed himself roughly from his captor and whirled around to face the lanky blond.Kazuhiro placed both hands on his hips and cocked a brow, waiting for the inevitable.

"Have I told you yet today how much I hate you?" Kazuya spat out.

"About fifty times.Isn't that right, Raffe?" 

"Ah, Kazuhiro, methinks 'tis more like fifty-three."

"And counting, I'm sure. Anyone want to place bets on how many times my little sib can serenade us with his loathing for me?"

"I'll take that bet!"

"Hey, count me in!"

"Right here, pal!"

"What the hell – I need a new shooter cartridge.I'll throw down!"

"Well, Suka.Looks like you've got the power to make me a very wealthy man today.Keep it up, sib."Kazuhiro Hasukawa, crew medic and provisions specialist of the _Moirai, chucked his kid brother under the chin with an affection that only he was privy to.Much as he loved teasing the boy, he truly harbored a deep love for the little brat. _

"Not if I can help it, you old goat!" Kazuya shoved his brother with venom.A collective "oooh!" erupted from the onlookers.Kazuhiro grinned.

"I don't know, fellows.I think that's two.One for insulting me and one overt show of force.That brings our count up to…how many?"

"Fifty-two!"

"Brek, you moron!Raffe just said fifty-three a sec ago.Can't you count?Oh, yeah.You can't.That's why you're just on demo detail, eh?"

"Come closer when you say that, Rigo, and I'll show you what kind of magic us demo guys can do with our fists!"

"Bring it on, happa!Let's see what simians are really made of!"

A brief scuffle ensued and Kazuya wisely stepped away from the larger men, making his way to the bar.He didn't want to know the outcome of the tussle, wasn't even interested enough to bet.He was just relieved that the focus was off him for once. Behind him, the redhead could feel his shadow tailing him once more.He ignored her, hopped onto a stool, hooked both feet on the bottom rung.Then he signaled at Hypno for a round of drinks and wearily reached into his pocket for a handful of marks.

Sartre stayed his hand."Hold on there, youngun.This one's on the house."

"So soon?You don't even have any customers yet!" Kazuya's forehead furrowed in bewilderment.

"Oi, it's getting to be so's a person can't do a good deed without havin' his head bit off around here anymore!" The proprietor was jovial but could not completely hide the worry evident in his eyes.

Kazuya frowned."What's going on, Sartre?"

"You guys don't know yet, do you?"

"Know what?" Kazuhiro asked curiously.The other crew members had finished with their morning exercise, a few of them a bit bloody and ragged for it and some of them a couple marks richer, and they crowded the bar eagerly.Gossip and a couple shots of Hypno's secret recipe was a good way to start the day.

"You wanna tell them or should I?" Sartre cocked his head at the catman who had chosen not to make his presence known initially.Charybdis had an uncanny knack of fading into shadows when he so chose.It was what made him and his kind so successful as assassins.

"Char?Hey, sorry, I didn't see you there!He'la!" Kazuhiro thumped his chest with his fist and Charybdis did the same.The others began muttering greetings of their own but Kazuya, as was his wont, interrupted them.

"Is this news gonna make me hurl?Coz I don't need another ulcer, you know."

He was immediately cuffed on the head by a random hand.The redhead yelped but subsided when he saw who had hit him.Next to Mitsu, Gunner Lao was the only other member of their crew who instilled a modicum of respect in the youth.

Charybdis settled on his stool, his cloak pooling around him, and he surveyed the men.He had gotten to know the crew of the _Moirai intimately after that little fiasco in Sector 7 two years ago and he knew they would not take the news well.He made bets with himself to see how each would react when he told them._

"They've got Mitsu." The catman announced without preamble.

Chaos erupted.

"Holy hell!"

"Those motherlovin' bastards!"

"Well, we're done for now!"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

"We gotta go bust him out.Right, guys?Right?Huh, guys?"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

"Calm down!Stop yelling!Calm down, fellows!I said shaddup!"Kazuhiro roared the last and was met with instant obedience.

"Thank you.Now, first thing's first.When did this all go down?" The medic eyeballed Charybdis who gave up the floor to Sartre.

"Last night.Some suit collared him in the stim room.It happened so fast.There was nothing I could do." The club owner bowed apologetically.

"We'll talk about that later, Sartre.Men, we've gotta move fast.If they got him last night, that means they haven't had time to send him aboveside yet.The first chute doesn't go active till noon.They'll have kept him in the holding cells in Sector 4.That's where we'll go." Kazuhiro was talking so fast that his brother, who was closest to him, could almost imagine the medic's wetware frying at the speed of the synapses.

The others were not far behind.Already, Rigo was checking the level gages of his blaster and Rhys slid his claymore out of its sheath grimly.Raffe's good eye narrowed and he touched his bandolier to affirm the readiness of his deadly knives.Gunner cracked his knuckles, the only weapons he ever needed.Brek grunted.

"Um, guys?" Kazuya held up a hand hesitantly."We're gonna fight, aren't we?It's gonna get messy, isn't it?I should stay by the _Moirai in case we need a quick getaway." _

"Idiot!" Gunner smacked at his head again. "We won't need the ship.We'll need bodies to fling at the Guardians.I guess your skinny ass will do just as well.You're coming with us."

"But…but…"

"It's Mitsu."

With that soft declaration, Kazuya's protests died in his throat.Gunner was right.It _was Mitsu.Their captain.And every single one of them owed him their lives.Now was as good a time as any to pay up._

"It's settled.We're off.Sartre, thanks for the info.Char, could you make sure Trout stays away?And we'd appreciate it is some of your pride could watch our ship.We're in Docking Bay 5.I wouldn't ask – don't want to involve you further – but…" Kazuhiro left the sentence hanging.Bushido was between the catman and his captain and was not transferable.But in a case like this, one could always hope.

Charybdis did not disappoint."I'll do you one better, Hiro.I'll stand guard myself.And Trout will be by my side."

The girl in question, the last member of the _Moirai and the bane of Kazuya's existence, bared her teeth but made no sound.She hadn't spoken since the crew had found her a year ago on one of their runs to Atropos, but she was quite adept at making her feelings known.Usually, they were feelings of complete adoration for Kazuya, but her affection also extended to Mitsu.To be barred from rescuing him must have sat ill with the girl._

"Thank you, Char.A debt is tallied." Kazuhiro held out his left hand, palm up, in formal acknowledgement.

"And a debt will be repaid." Charybdis completed the ritual by meeting the medic's hand with his own paw."Now go!By the looks of his captor last night, he'll be in a hell of a shape when you get him."

"Who put the snatch?" Kazuhiro thought to ask even as he followed the crew to the door.

"I don't know.Some woman.Short hair. Guardian uniform.Had one mean right hook."The catman called out.

Kazuhiro froze in his tracks and the others did the same.As one, they all swiveled and stared at Charybdis.Kazuya swallowed audibly.No one spoke for a moment, then Gunner screwed his courage and asked the question:

"Did she have red hair?"

"Yes.Even wilder than Kazuya's."

A devastating sigh swept the crew.

"The Morrigu."

"Shit, shit, shit!"


	3. The Advocates

Chapter 3: The Advocates

**Chapter 3:The Advocates**

"This is highly irregular, de Medici.What would the rest of the Enclave say if they knew?"

"But they won't know unless you tell them, D'Argent.And why would a clever man like yourself even contemplate doing such a rash thing like that?"

"This goes against everything we've built, everything we've supported…"

"Everything you've supported, my dear Nuada.And besides, we're not doing anything illicit, are we?For all anyone knows, this is simply a chat between friends."To emphasize his point, the First tier advocate nodded his head pleasantly to the couple that strolled past, a picture of civility and nonchalance.

"Hmph."

Nuada D'Argent glanced at his companion as they made their way through the airy walkways of First tier Plaza.It was a clear summer day, early enough in the season that the artificial ozone layer was able to filter out most of the sun's disastrous ultraviolets.The sky was a gentle cerulean above them, the grass a vibrant green.Nuada never failed to think of early nineteenth century Impressionists whenever he came aboveside to visit.

In contrast to the serene surroundings, Giancarlo de Medici was a study in harsh planes and angles.He towered over his portly counterpart by a good sixteen centimeters, slashing scenery as his thin frame knifed past.His aquiline nose hawked over a thin-lipped mouth and his sharp cheekbones jutted prominently from a pale face.Even de Medici's eyes called forth images of splintered glass, shard-like chips of obsidian that rarely showed emotion.Clean-shaven, hair shorn short in aristo fashion and coolly elegant in impeccably-cut robes, Giancarlo de Medici was a formidable man and was perhaps the most dangerous in all of history to have donned the mantle of First tier Enclave advocate.

An unobtrusive beep interrupted Nuada's contemplation of his sometime adversary and current co-conspirator.De Medici paused in their stroll and held up an index finger to indicate a call coming through.He closed his eyes and 'pathed directly to the Hub, accepting the transmission.Nuada graciously walked a few meters away to give the man privacy, even as he secretly envied de Medici's Empath abilities.

"She has him.They're waiting for you at the Academy." De Medici approached the Second tier Advocate after only a handful of minutes.

"She caught him yesterday?"

"Last night."

"But the chutes don't activate until noon." Nuada glanced at the chrono on his wrist to make sure he wasn't mistaken."How…?"

"Nuada, my friend, there are secrets even you, as Academy president, are not privy to.Suffice to say, the Morrigu has our guest happily ensconced in your demesnes.I wouldn't doubt that they are currently taking liberties with your choice vintages."

Nuada spluttered incoherently at the thought.If there was one thing the usually ascetic man indulged in it was his private stock of wines.Considered contraband for most due to the rarity of land to grow the grapes on, wine was usually reserved for the tables of the First Families only.Nuada owning a bottle, let alone an entire cellar, was tantamount to high treason.Only his friendship with de Medici kept him from being thrown in the gaol.

"Calm yourself, my friend.A jest only, to be sure.I doubt that Ikeda is in any mood to celebrate at the moment.Speaking of celebration, however, how goes it with your discovery?"

At the mention of his protégé, Nuada immediately forgot his wines and beamed proudly.

"Shinobu is doing exceptionally well.His 'path ratios rival even the most purestrain of aristos."

"Yes, yes.I've seen the stats you sent earlier.That was not what I meant. I want to know if you've apprised him of our little venture."

"Well, actually, we've been so excited over the tests that I…"

"Nuada, you know as well as I that our plans need to be executed in the most expedient manner as possible.It's difficult enough having one unwilling player.I need to know if Tezuka will be ready when the time comes."

"Oh, I have no doubt," Nuada replied, his eyes taking on an uncharacteristically steely sheen."Shinobu will be operative in the week we had allotted for preparation and debriefing.You just have to do your part in the meantime."

"You mean the Enclave?Do you really foresee any dissenters?Aside from that irritating little gnat, of course."De Medici led them down the spiral that made up the center of the Plaza.It was less populated here, the chest-high hedges effectively ensuring privacy as the two men wound through the circular path.

"That irritating gnat is still Third tier advocate, Giancarlo."

"Loki Swift is an insignificant City dweller, a popinjay so puffed up with his own self-importance that he would argue he was a woman if it suited his purposes.All the Enclave knows this.I can deal with Swift's protests, wearying though that may be.Besides," de Medici indulged in a rare smile that, rather than putting Nuada at ease, only filled him with trepidation, "by the time the rest of our brethren realize what we've set in motion, the key players will be out of their reach."

"Do you have a crew?A ship?Provisions?A trip of that magnitude…they'd have to be equipped to survive at least nine months in space."

"The gears are in motion.All is taken care of.If I didn't know better, my friend, I'd think you were stalling for time." De Medici kept walking but flicked a glance at his companion out of the corner of his eye.

"And if I didn't know better, my friend, I'd think you were trying to put me on the defensive because you're keeping something from me." Nuada matched the man's even tone.

"Touche."

Nuada chuckled softly and de Medici snorted, both reacting to the adversarial camaraderie that characterized their friendship.Neither one would give an inch, of course; they would both play their cards close to their chests.The two advocates were wise enough to recognize that men in power such as they did well to keep a few secrets from the other, friends though they may be.

They reached the center of the spiral then, pausing to admire the fountain of Pallas Athene located in the heart of the pseudo maze.Nuada thought of the paradox the goddess represented: war and wisdom.But perhaps not so much a paradox?After all, hadn't mankind waged war throughout history because of wisdom gained or wisdom withheld?What a fitting place to plot what could possibly lead to the end of their society.

The hefty Second tier advocate sat down wearily on one of the stone benches surrounding the fountain, surreptitiously wiping at his brow with the corner of his robe's sleeve.He was no longer a young man, and his life at the Academy was not conducive to hard labor.He was out of shape.If this all came down to war, Nuada knew he would be the first to fall.He didn't think he could count on de Medici for aid.Nuada stroked his graying beard nervously.He had others.But would they be enough?

"So everything's in order and once again, we come full circle to me."

"Aye."

"And to Shinobu."

"Aye.Your unbelievable discovery.The Academy's best-kept secret.It's ironic, really." De Medici joined him on the bench.

"What is?"

"That you concern yourself with appeasing the Enclave so much yet you have been heading a project that would have them stone you for heresy at the very least."

"It's unorthodox, yes.But if they only saw the charts, they'd forget all about tier hierarchy!Why, the neurists have told me that Shinobu's charts read higher than your best Empath by ten percent!"

"I find that hard to believe."

"But you said you read my report.It's all in there!"

De Medici paused, caught in his flagrant lie.If he were honest, he really didn't give a damn about Shinobu Tezuka and his supposedly astounding abilities.All he expected from Nuada's protégé was enough Empath skills to complete the mission successfully.After it was all over, the Third tier dweller could go back to being the nonentity he had been, for all de Medici cared.Still, Nuada seemed to care for the little manling so it would be bad form to antagonize his peer too soon.Appeasement was in order.

"I must confess: I merely skimmed the data.You know we Empaths don't bother reading," de Medici was apologetic."It's a sad commentary on society, I know, so don't get on your soapbox, Nuada.But we have relied on our Empath skills for long before the Collapse.It's a very difficult habit to break.And when you send me these data streams on my palmscreen…ah, too many words!"

Nuada was about to make a nasty comment about the illiteracy rate amongst First tiers, especially First Family members, when he realized that pointing it out would be like tipping his hand.Firsters were notorious for their distinct lack of interest in anything not instantaneous, reading being one of them.This aversion was what kept them so aloof from everyone belowside and it had its definite advantages.It was how Nuada had smuggled his wines into the Academy, First tier Guardians being really lax when reading order dockets.

But at times like these, when expediency is key…he even stressed so himself!How could he not read the damned reports?Sometimes, I could just throttle the man!

Nuada had just about decided to indulge in his ire and scold his friend anyway when de Medici stunned him by falling off the bench, his head clutched in both hands.He tumbled over so quietly, so gracefully.But the advocate's face was frozen in a rictus of pain, and the seriousness of the situation was not lost to Nuada.

"What is it?What's wrong?" He knelt by his friend's side, genuine fear spiraling in his stomach.

The water from the fountain played counterpoint to de Medici's rasping breathing.

"Giancarlo!Should I call a medic?"Nuada made to leave but was stopped by a hand clutching his robes.

"Nuada…you insufferable…academic…" de Medici managed a rueful chuckle even as he winced in pain."You were…right.I should have…read those...reports."

"What are you talking about?"

"That, my friend, was what we Empaths call recoil feedback.Help me…?" de Medici gestured to the bench.

"That sounds ugly.And pretty painful, if it made you so weak you're asking for help," Nuada cracked, his normal aplomb shaken so much that he dispensed with tact and fell back on bluntness instead.

De Medici glared at the implied chink in his armor but was too spent to put up much of a fight.Wearily rubbing at his temples, he offered an explanation: "Your untrained Empath spiked a message."

"Spiked?Recoil feedback?Giancarlo, this is all Greek to me."

"Well, I'm no trained neurist so this may be a bit sketchy, but as far as I know, purestrain Empaths are trained at birth to control their neural waves.We're taught not to "shout" because it fries the synapses of those within a two-meter radius of us.If you're a high-level Empath, you can inadvertently kill someone with merely a thought. Are you following this?"

"I'm not a child, Giancarlo."

"True.As I was saying, then: purestrains are trained at birth.Halfstrains we discover early enough – they usually reveal their abilities at adolescence – and, although it's more difficult for them, they learn to master control over their brain waves too.But once in a while, we stumble on a rogue Empath, someone either too old to learn the tricks, or simply too unstable emotionally to handle the input from non-Empath folk who have no control over their thoughts.

Imagine the pain these rogues go through.It's similar to being forced to listen to hundreds of thousands of audiodecks at the same time, with no way to turn down the volume or focus on one channel.The Empaths who can't control their synapses go insane.Or they kill themselves.Or they spike and then they kill others."

"Spiking is like shouting, then?" Nuada tried to make sense of the information.

"You could say that.But because it's not directed at any one person, like a "shout" would be, the spike is much less discriminate.Depending on the intensity of the rogue's emotion and the level of his capabilities, a spike could penetrate even the most experienced Empath's thought shields and overload synapses.When that happens, any Empath within a four-meter radius gets a taste of that power unleashed and thus, recoil feedback."

"And you have some rogues around here now?"

"No, we don't.The last rogue we dealt with killed herself because she was hurting her family."

"Then..."

"The only untrained Empath I know of is your protégé, Nuada."

"Shinobu?But he's at the Academy on Second tier!That's nearly 600 meters down!"

De Medici looked directly at his friend.For the first time in the nearly twenty years of friendship between them, Nuada saw fear lacing the man's dark eyes as the same realization hit him too.

"Yes, he is."

Nuada swallowed convulsively."But he was doing so well!He had control over his synapses!We threw every test we could at him and he handled each one magnificently!"

"Well, perhaps your boy is not as adept as you think.Either that," de Medici raised a hand against his friend's protest, "or something happened belowside, Nuada.Something so traumatic that it sent Tezuka over the edge."

"But what could possibly be so harrowing that would make Shinobu lose control like that?"

"I think you need to find that out."


	4. The Empath

Chapter 4: The Empath

**Chapter 4: The Empath**

There.There it was again.

"Shinobu."

That glimmer…so bright, yet…shadowy…

"Shinobu, are you with me?"

Almost…got…it…

"Mr. Tezuka!Report now!"

Almost had it.

"Hai.I'm here."He opened his eyes lazily then blinked at the brightness that assailed them.

"Where were you?You went off the scope and we couldn't reach you."

"Oh, surely you weren't worried?I'm still here, after all." Shinobu Tezuka could not quite mask the irritation he felt at being distracted from his little foray.

"That's not the point and you know it.If you don't keep hold of the tether when you 'path, we can't monitor you."

"You can't control me, you mean."

"Shinobu!" A third voice joined the conversation, this one sounding a bit affronted.

"Ah, Dr. Zeichen.I didn't realize you were up there too."Shinobu flicked a glance at the opaque glass that hid the observation deck several meters above him.

"Would it have mattered had you known?"

"Of course, Anna.One should always be considerate of a woman's tender sensibilities."Amusement twined around the statement.

Dr. Anna Zeichen blew the blond bangs from her forehead in exasperation.So he was in one of _those_ moods again.She didn't know what was stronger: her desire to throttle him or an uncontrollable desire to plant a big, wet one on those luscious lips.He knew he had that effect on her too.His voice, normally already smooth and well-modulated for a colonist, would drop dark and smoky like tinted glass when he spoke to her.

Shinobu's teasing alternately flustered and angered the doctor.It simply wasn't very professional to feel for one's subjects, yet the man really got under her skin.Anna had even toyed with the idea of asking to be assigned to a different case, but Nuada D'Argent had wanted her to head his pet project.And what Nuada wants…

"Nuada gets?" Shinobu leaned forward in the reclining chair and spoke huskily into the com.

"Stop that!" The woman snapped.

"Stop what, Anna?"

"Get out of my head, Tezuka!I may not be an uber Empath like you, but I can still make your life miserable here at the Academy.And you will kindly address me in a manner befitting our status."

"Hai, Herr doctor!" Shinobu thought a salute and a clicking of shiny, black boots at the woman.

"That's it!He's done for the day.'Trode off, Dr. Reki." Anna hastily snapped her clipboard shut, refusing to look at her colleague for fear of what she might find on his face.

She needn't have worried.The Drego's expression was as stoic as ever.He tapped on the keyboard in front of him and the screens' glare that glinted off his scales abruptly went dead.

"Shinobu, you're free to go." Reki announced over the com.

"Thank you, doctors.Anna, always a pleasure." The silver-haired man stretched languidly then pulled the monitor 'trodes from his forehead.

The doors to the lab swished open and the room went dim, signaling the end of the session.Shinobu checked the time from the chrono on the wall._The monkey gets a break?So soon?I must ask Nuada to have Anna monitor me personally more often._

He'd never seen Anna in person.In fact, he'd never met any of the scientists face to face in the year and a half he'd been at the Academy.He'd wondered why in the beginning, but when he'd broached the subject with Nuada, the man had brushed his concerns aside and mumbled something about procedure.

Shinobu hadn't minded.There were plenty of other things to occupy him.When Nuada had found him on Danae and had offered to train him at the Academy, he'd been hesitant at first.Sure, his life on the backwater planet hadn't exactly been a bed of roses, but it had been home.Then several events had transpired and Shinobu had no choice but to leave.Nuada had capitalized on his misfortune, dangling the proverbial carrot in front of his nose.

So to the Academy he'd gone.And once there, Shinobu found himself presented with myriad distractions to keep his mind off his circumstances.Gaia was the mecca of the galaxy after all, the mother planet around which everything revolved, and Avalon was its heart.

Shinobu made his way through the corridors of the neurology lab and emerged into the outer courtyard of the Academy, the octagon-shaped expanse that provided a common meeting area for all the other guild halls.During one of his bleaker periods, when he'd not wanted to be around people and had immersed himself in study instead, Shinobu had read up on architecture and civil engineering.Upon observing the Academy's layout, he'd discovered that it had been created with a distinctly medieval renaissance feel to it.

Shinobu appreciated the old-world ambience of brick and cobblestones, of twining ivy and airy archways that connected the buildings.He liked the way each hall faced the courtyard and, from any given window in any given structure, one could spy on the comings and goings of Academy folk.He enjoyed the juxtaposition of the archaic conceit without and the advanced technology within. 

He'd made good use of that advanced technology.In Danae, a planet of mining colonists, there had been little in the way of academic pursuit.Shinobu had always felt there was something missing in his life and at the time, he hadn't realized it was his thirst for knowledge that gnawed at his insides.Meeting Nuada and hearing all about the 150 guilds and the endless stream of data that the Academy was privy to had set his imagination on fire.So, if he were honest with himself, Shinobu had to admit that his mind had already been made up to leave Danae even before that unfortunate incident had occurred.

He knew he'd made the right decision after his first six months at the Academy.Shinobu had started alphabetically, visiting the Anatomy Guild first and pestering the scientists there with every conceivable question his data-starved mind could cook up.Flattered by such eager attention, the men and women had given Shinobu full access to their files.He'd soaked it up like a sponge, even pushing them gently into directions that opened their eyes to innovative new theories.Word got around about Nuada's pet project and his amazing intelligence and intuition, although few knew the real reason for his presence there.More guilds had approached Shinobu with offers to teach him all they knew and the learning had not stopped since.

So now, confined to Second tier though he was, Shinobu still never failed to be astounded at the variety of pleasures and amusements to be had.Being poked and prodded like a guinea pig was a small price to pay for all the wonders he experienced in exchange.

Speaking of wonders, let me try this again.

Shinobu hid in the shade behind his favorite statue in the courtyard – a replica of Michelangelo's David – and closed his eyes in an attempt to capture that elusive tendril of light and shadow that had plagued him, on and off, for the past five years.

_Light…and shadows.So…fascinating.So…beautiful…_

~

"What the hell…?" Mitsu raised a shaky hand to his head and struggled groggily to get up from his prone position.

"I'd advise against doing that, Mr. Ikeda."

"Yeah?Well, screw you!" The blond heaved himself up and was immediately inundated by ten thousand needles of fire dancing the samba in his head.He groaned loudly and fell back, clutching at his temples.

"I told you so." The voice sounded smug.

"Who the hell are you?Where am I?What did you do to me?" Mitsu looked around cautiously and could find no evidence of the person anywhere in the stark, dimly-lit room.

"One question at a time, please."

"Fuck you!Answer me now!" The blond had recovered enough to regain his natural belligerence, although he did wince in pain as he raised his voice.

"Request invalid.Cannot compute.Please rephrase."

I should've known.Damned droids.Good-for-nothing pieces of shit!Figures they'd leave me with a brainless mecha.Kinda flattering though…

Mitsu grinned in spite of himself.That Guardian had known who he was last night, which meant that they'd done some research on him.And that meant they knew about his reputation.Which was the only reason Mitsu could come up with to explain why he'd been assigned to a droid rather than a human. 

Because I'd tear apart any orga they threw at me.

Like you tore apart that Guardian last night, his conscience mocked him.

Shaddup!She took me by surprise, is all.

Yeah, women seem to have that effect on you.

Mitsu ignored the scornful niggling in the back of his mind and took stock of his situation.Standing was still a distant hope as the pain pierced his skull.It felt like someone had juiced his wetware.Mitsu wouldn't put it past the Guardians to do something as underhanded as that.

So the conman appraised his surroundings flat on his back.It was devoid of any furniture save the bed he was on.The walls were smooth plasticrene and emitted a sickly bluish glow, a poor excuse for light.The room was a four meter by four meter box with no evidence of a door or windows.A blinking red light in the center of the ceiling marked the comlink from which the droid had spoken. 

Mitsu had been in enough places like these in his eleven years as a runner to recognize it.A holding cell, then.The conman expected nothing less, especially after the fuss he'd put up the night before.He remembered elbowing the Guardian in the nose on their way out of the club.He also remembered the right hook she had nailed him with in retaliation.Then she'd stabbed him in the back of the neck with something sharp.

_ _

_And that's all he wrote, folks.Fade to black for R'Ikeda.Damn that bitch!I bet she did use a disruptor on me!__Oh, when I get my hands on that woman…vengeance is mine!_

But it was not the time to think retribution.Right now, he needed to recalibrate his wetware and get the hell out of Dodge.By his internal clock, Mitsu figured it was about mid-morning which meant he was still in the City; the chutes didn't activate till noon.

_Good.The longer away I am from getting shipped aboveside, the happier I'll be._Mitsu thought grimly.There was a reason he'd not stepped foot on both the upper tiers since he was fifteen.It was the same reason that brought a bleak, shuttered look to his eyes at their mere mention.His crew had learned early on never to speak of Avalon's higher echelons when he was within hearing range.Doing so was dangerous, as Rigo had found out that one time.

_Rigo.The guys.Wonder where they think I am.Hope Char and Sartre tuned them in.Coz if that Guardian is still around, I may just need their help busting outta here_, Mitsu grudgingly admitted to himself.His niggling conscience cheered at the confession.

Mitsu decided that enough time had elapsed for his 'ware to recover the overload.The pain in his head was now more a dull throbbing rather than a lancing fire.He attempted to sit up once more.And then he noticed it.

"You motherlovin' sons of bitches!You bastards!Damn you!What have you done to my hair?!"

Mitsu clutched at the back of his head.His ponytail was gone, shorn off to just below his ears, leaving his nape naked and vulnerable.He felt for his 'trode port gingerly; it had been years since it'd been exposed like that.Mitsu experienced a profound sense of violation and mounting apprehension.Why the hair?What purpose did that serve?Humiliation? It wasn't like Guardians to play mind games; they were strictly protocol whores who did everything by the book.This wasn't their style.

Mitsu was about to call out to the droid again, if only just to chase away his anxiety with a show of bravado, when he felt a tickling inside his head, as if someone had dug fingers into his skull and started playing the piano.It was a familiar, albeit uncomfortable, sensation.

It's happening again.I thought I'd gotten rid of it after I'd limited my run in the Omega Belt.What the hell?Am I going crazy for sure this time?

Mitsu shook his head but the tickling continued.And then he heard the whispering:

Light…and shadows.So…fascinating…so…beautiful…

"No!Stop it!Get the hell out of my mind!Droid!Yo, you worthless hunk of metal!What the hell is going on here?" Mitsu leaped off the bed and proceeded to bang ineffectually at the walls.

"What seems to be the trouble, Ikeda?" A new voice came over the com.This time, it sounded human.

"I don't know what you've got jacked in my 'ware but I want it out now!You hear me?This is in violation of code 7459, you rat bastards!" Mitsu craned his neck and yelled at the red light.

Ah…darkness.And confusion?Fear?The shadows…the light…they're calling…

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ikeda.We haven't done a thing to your wetware.Well, except juice it to keep you amenable."

"Amenable, my ass!And I don't believe you!" Mitsu was beginning to feel frantic, hammering at the walls and shaking his head to rid himself of the whispering.

Shadows.Shadows are…taking over.No more…light?Hello?Who are you?

"I don't really care what you believe, Ikeda." The voice over the com grew cold.

"Hey, lady!Is that you?The bitch with the red hair?Coz if it's you, why don't you come in here and we can go round two, huh?And this time I'm ready for you!"

Don't be afraid.I'm your…friend?

"You're really a glutton for punishment, aren't you?" The voice was derisive.

"It is you!Let me outta here, you wench!And stop transmitting!" Mitsu ceased his attack on the walls and cradled his battered fists against his chest.The whispering was getting stronger and it was sapping any vigor he had left. 

"I don't know what you're talking about.But if you want out, then you'll be getting your wish soon.Doctors?I think he's ready."

The red light turned off.

"Ready?Ready for what?" Mitsu looked around him in panic, missing the swish of his ponytail as he did so.

Calm…be calm…friend.

To Mitsu's left, a wall suddenly disappeared and two men in white lab coats entered the room, accompanied by a levitating med droid.The conman backed away slowly and wished with all his might for his blaster.

"Hey, guys.How's it going?You taking me out of here, then?" Mitsu smiled disarmingly.

The two men were silent as they relentlessly stalked him, the med droid in their wake.

Calm…be calm…

"Guys?Hey, guys?What say we go and get some drinks over at Sartre's, huh?On me.Whaddaya say, fellas?Drinks sound good to you?Sartre's a close personal friend of mine." Mitsu felt his back hit a wall and found himself cornered.The two men had still not made a sound.

The red light blinked back on.

"Do it." The voice commanded.

With a quickness and strength that Mitsu would never have expected from medics, the two men grabbed hold of his arms and dragged him to the bed.As he bucked and screamed, they proceeded to flip him on his stomach and, while one held him down with a pressure point in the small of his back, the other reached underneath the bed and activated magnetic straps that materialized on all four corners.Mitsu found his wrists and ankles effectively immobilized.

"You sons of bitches!Fuck you! Fuck you!Let me go!What the hell is this!What the hell are you gonna do to me?!"

Fear!Why…fear?No more light.Only…fear.Why…?

Mitsu's chin was propped up and he saw the looming shadows of the two medics reflected on the plasticrene walls.He also spied the med droid hovering above him, a long appendage suddenly appearing out of its bulky form.Long appendage?This looked like no med droid he'd ever seen.Horror suffocated him as he watched the droid draw closer to his head.

"No!No! NOOOOOO!"

Twin screams of pain and fire scorched the Hub and every Empath within a thousand meters from the Academy keeled over from the force and fury of an Adept level Empath's uncontrollable spike.

  



	5. The Escape

Chapter 5: The Escape

**Chapter 5: The Escape**

"Who authorized this?" Nuada roared in her face so loudly that her eyelashes quivered from his expelled breath.

"Nuada, calm yourself."

"No!I will not calm myself, Giancarlo!It's bad enough we're doing all this behind the Enclave's back.If they found out we violated all kinds of freedom Codes with this Ikeda matter, our lives will be forfeit!"

"Isn't that a bit melodramatic?" From the vid screen on the wall, de Medici managed to sound placating and amused at the same time.

"I'm glad one of us is finding this funny, Giancarlo.And if she tells me you authorized the 'trode extraction, so help me God, this friendship of ours and all our plans are over!" The portly advocate whirled to glare at his peer.

"Sir, Signore de Medici had nothing to do with the order.I took the initiative to authorize the extraction on the orgamech." The woman stood stiff and resolute, her military bearing betraying no trace of emotion.

"You?You authorized this madness?" Nuada refocused his attention on the redhead."Who are you to make such a decision?"

"Sir, I am Morgan la Freya of the Guardian Elite and its commander for the past six years." The woman saluted crisply, her gaze directed a polite five centimeters below Nuada's eyes as protocol demanded.It did give her a decidedly indifferent expression, however, since the man was a good half a meter shorter than she.

"Commander, eh?And you assumed that this status gave you the right to order a procedure that normally requires a subject's complete consent and at least ten extremely complicated forms to fill out?Who is your direct superior?" Nuada trembled in outrage.

"That would be Signore de Medici, sir."

"Giancarlo…" Nuada eyed his friend menacingly.

From the vid screen, the First tier advocate shrugged his shoulders innocently even as Morgan broke form and stepped forward to add hastily, "I repeat, sir: Signore de Medici knew nothing of this!"

"Is this true?" Nuada asked suspiciously.

Again, de Medici shrugged."You saw me take her transmission, Nuada.And although you're a stickler for etiquette, I know you would have not been beneath eavesdropping on me had you thought something untoward was happening.She's telling the truth, my friend.I had nothing to do with the extraction.Why would I want to jeopardize our mission that way?I need Ikeda in prime operative condition and removing his electrodes would severely handicap the man.Tell me, Commander le Freya, why did you authorize the procedure?"

Both men looked to the woman and a tremor of uncertainty ran through her at their scrutiny.All three were convened in Nuada's office in the Administrative Guild hall, thirty minutes after Shinobu's spiking debacle.Since every Empath on First tier had rushed to de Medici, demanding answers, the advocate had remained behind to smooth over the incident while Nuada, taking advantage of the hour, had taken the first chute belowside. 

Once at the Academy, the man had quickly rounded up those involved.Thankfully, very few Empaths resided on Second tier and Nuada did not have as monumental a task as his counterpart in playing damage control.He'd ordered Ikeda sent to the recovery wing of the Neurology Guild, placed the two medics under solitary confinement in the very same holding cell they'd undertaken the procedure, and solicitously walked a stunned Shinobu to his room with a sedative.Finally, Nuada had called the Guardian to his office for a full report.

And this was how Morgan le Freya found herself standing in the middle of a deceptively cheery room, her feet planted firmly on an Aubusson replica rug, surrounded by more replicas of famous late nineteenth century paintings.

_For a man famous for his simplicity and Spartan nature, this office sure has as much opulence as a First Family domicile!_ Morgan thought to herself.Then she realized she was doing it again: distracting herself from being taken to task.She hated when she was wrong and tried to avoid situations like these as much as possible.

Ah, but you got yourself in this mess, le Freya.You and your vendetta against orgamechs.Damn Ikeda anyway!He deserved what he got!Ah, frag it!Let's just face the music, shall we?What's the worst they can do?Dismiss me?

"No answer?Defiance as well as insubordination.Well, we can't exactly have that, can we, Nuada?I'm afraid you've compromised our situation enough, Commander le Freya.Please surrender your weapon and badge.You are officially dismissed from service."

De Medici was speaking.What did he just say? 

"Sir?" Morgan was disbelieving.

"I said you are dismissed, Commander. Of course, we cannot just ignore your many years of service with the Guardians, and we would certainly not wish for you to be left wanting.This was simply a misguided and unfortunate decision on your part, after all.Therefore, a generous severance pay will be deposited to your comcard as soon as you relinquish your effects." De Medici spoke softly but firmly.

"What?!Are you out of your mind?" Morgan's jaw dropped and she threw all protocol to the wind as the full import of the announcement sunk in.

She _was_ being dismissed.Over the Ikeda extraction.What the hell?Oh, sure, she'd acted rashly and had probably disregarded a whole mess of bureaucratic red tape.And maybe it _was_ a minor violation of the freedom Codes.But Ikeda was a runner; it didn't matter if he supposedly had ties with certain First Families.A runner was a felon and, technically, was not protected by the freedom Codes as the other Avalon citizenry were.Plus, he had really pissed her off.

"Ms. Le Freya, as you are now a civilian, I cannot call you on insubordination but I must remind you that you are in the presence of two advocates.Kindly observe the correct social conduct for this situation." De Medici was inexorable in his distant indifference.

Morgan was about to open her mouth to spew forth a series of choice invectives when her training stopped her.Whatever de Medici said, she was still a Guardian and she refused to tarnish that image by acting out of line.There were better ways to deal with this matter.De Medici wasn't the only Firster who needed her services.She would go to the Machiavellis or the Montavanis; surely one of them would have use for her skills.She was the best and everyone knew it.

De Medici was discarding her like last night's refuse, eh?Well, he was playing a game here and Morgan did not want any part of it.She would simply take her severance pay with confidence, knowing that her last assignment had been completed as per instruction.And if any future employers asked why she'd been dismissed, she'd just fabricate a nice little story.Morgan didn't think de Medici would expose her.She had overheard enough of "the mission" to know that he and D'Argent were planning something illicit so she had something over them too.

Blackmail worked both ways.

"It is as you say, Signore.May I leave now?" Morgan bowed stiffly, her mind already going down the list of First Families she could approach.

"Yes.As soon as you surrender your badge and blaster."

Silently, Morgan deposited the requested effects on D'Argent's desk.Then, remembering she need not salute anymore, she whirled around and stalked haughtily from the room, trying to prevent her anger from seeping through her façade.The door swished silently behind her.

"Well, that was abrupt." Nuada sighed and sank into his desk chair, swiveling around to face the vid screen.

"Abrupt yet necessary.Le Freya was showing just a little too much initiative.She's a good Guardian, one of the best for her age, I hear.It was why I commissioned her in the first place.And she got further than all the others; she acquired Ikeda for us.But this extraction business.Ugly.And unprofessional.I was warned about her prejudice against orgamechs, but I thought her training would be enough to overcome that.My mistake.I apologize, Nuada." De Medici inclined his head gracefully.Even when he erred, he did so with finesse.

The Second tier advocate grunted."All well and good, Giancarlo.But now we have another loose end.What makes you so sure le Freya won't go directly to the Enclave with this? "

"We wouldn't have had that worry if you hadn't revealed their ignorance of our mission," his friend gently rebuked him.Before Nuada could defend himself, de Medici raised a hand and continued. "But that is neither here nor there.Remember, it was she who violated the freedom Codes.If she wants to get a commission elsewhere, she'll keep quiet.The scales are balanced.She is not a concern.What is a concern, however, is your protégé."

"Shinobu?"

"Yes.This is a regrettable turn of events.Why did Tezuka react so violently – so intensely – to Ikeda's pain?They're virtual strangers to each other.Tezuka shouldn't even have known Ikeda was here, let alone be able to delve into his mind like that.Perhaps throwing them together for this mission is unwise?" de Medici's query was calm enough but a frisson of worry was evident in his furrowed brow.

"No, no, no!" Nuada was hasty in his disagreement.Then, seeing the First tier advocate's raised eyebrow, he modulated his next statement carefully."I mean, we've invested a lot in Shinobu's training and, barring this unfortunate incident, he has shown the most promise out of all the candidates.Besides, haven't you forgotten why we chose him in the first place?He's an offworlder and knows nothing about our politics.And his first loyalties are to me.Surely this alone points to him as being the most reasonable choice?"

"Hmmm." De Medici was noncommittal.

"Let me talk to him, Giancarlo.I'll ferret out what I can.We have a few days before we're ready to proceed anyway.Besides, Ikeda needs time to recover from the operation."

"Speaking of Ikeda, what have you done with him?"

"He's in recovery."

"No Guardians?"

"What for?I doubt he's set foot on Second tier in the past eleven years and much has changed.He'll have nowhere to run because he won't know where to go.And with his electrodes gone, he can't hack into the Hub and access any information.He's safe where he is."

"I trust you with this then, Nuada.Attend to Tezuka and watch Ikeda.Electrodes or not, he's a wily one, if the reports are true." De Medici reached forward to end transmission.

"Do you want me to interrogate Shinobu now?" Nuada asked.

"Leave it for tomorrow, my friend.We have an Enclave meeting tonight and there will be even more explaining to do then.We'll need to be careful and alert.Why don't we try and recuperate; it's been a most unpleasant day."

~

Shinobu made sure he'd keyed the door to his bedroom on "lock" mode, set his mind shields in place and prepared to play.He decided he'd recovered sufficiently from his unprecedented spiking and he wanted some answers.He wanted to know what had happened to make him lose control like he'd done.And he really wanted to know who that person was, the one with the light and the shadows.It was time to solve the one mystery that had haunted him sporadically for the past five years.

It pained Shinobu to keep his synapses open like this, but he'd been raised in a mining colony and he'd be damned if he'd take the meds Nuada had given him.

_Ouch!So much for masculine arrogance,_ Shinobu winced wryly as he was assaulted by another Empath's residual recoil feedback._Gods, you would think these people were all untrained, the way they leak like this!_

To distract himself from the pain, Shinobu searched until he found a familiar, comforting mind to latch on to.

_ _

_Ah!There!_

It amused him to think that Nuada, as a non-Empath, never had any inkling whenever his protégé chose to dabble in his head.Shinobu respected his mentor enough not to pry too deeply, but it really was so much easier sometimes getting information from the Academy president than researching it himself.Nuada D'Argent had an impressively organized mind. 

What's this?Nuada's angry?Over what?

Shinobu settled in more comfortably on the couch, slouching low and crossing his legs at the ankles.This was going to be interesting.

_Darkness…a maze of secret agendas and plots…conspiracy?Treason?What…?_

Shinobu bolted upright and concentrated more fiercely on Nuada's thoughts.This was not what he'd expected.The advocate was so distraught that his carefully controlled mind, usually so orderly even for a non-Empath, was completely unshielded and open to perusal.Shinobu hesitated briefly, his loyalty to his mentor almost superceding his burning need to know more.Maybe he should stop?

But the proverbial Pandora's box had been broached and the information was too tantalizing to resist.Shinobu sloughed off all frivolity and focused in earnest.

A mission, six years in the planning.Nuada and de Medici.De Medici?He's First tier advocate.Why is he…?Something to do with a…ship?The Gwydion?The outer tip of the galaxy's spiral.That's unchartered territory.No one's been there before.But that's where I'm being sent!Coordinates…this Gwydion is there?And de Medici wants it badly.So does Nuada.What is it about that blasted ship?

Shinobu felt dirty for invading Nuada's mind.He truly felt an affection for the old man and he knew it was wrong for him to violate his mind like this.But de Medici was fair game.

Do I dare?Am I strong enough?De Medici's on First tier; that's at least 500 meters up.Ah, what the hell!I need to know!

Shinobu strained his synapses and searched for the man.This would prove to be difficult since he'd never met the advocate and was unfamiliar with the man's thought patterns.But surely, since he was in conference with Nuada, there would be a trail linking the two…?

_Ah, there you are!Hello, Giancarlo de Medici!What secrets does your mind have to offer?_

_ _

Later, six months after the fact, to be precise, Shinobu would regret ever having delved into de Medici's head.But hindsight was twenty-twenty and at that moment, Shinobu was too consumed with curiousity to even contemplate stopping now.

_The Gwydion again!And…Dregos?How do they fit in to all of this?Wait.I got it!They're being…tested?Discarded?Death…so much death!_

Shinobu opened his eyes to escape the fear clawing at his mind. He didn't know if it was residue from de Medici or his own personal panic.He felt dirty and wrong.The whole thing was wrong!What did he have to do with missions and death and ships?And why was Nuada involved?Could he be trusted?Were Shinobu's loyalties misplaced after all?

Calm.Be calm.There's more to think about and histrionics will not help.

The Empath shoved emotion into a little corner in his mind and refocused his attention on the stolen thoughts.

Mitsuru Ikeda.Shinobu paused at the name and could not control the smile that assaulted his face.Mitsuru Ikeda.The light and the shadows.That fascinating, irresistible presence that he'd sensed intermittently for the past five years.Shinobu finally had a name to the mind that he'd played tag with for so long, it felt like a part of him. 

_So, Mitsuru Ikeda.I guess it's karma that we've been thrown together._Again, the smile that wouldn't quit._But de Medici thinks you're dispensable.He needs you to retrieve the ship.And after that, he plans to…to…no!_

Shinobu abruptly cut off transmission and fell back on the couch, gasping.Horror engulfed him and he struggled to pull himself together.What he'd discovered was heinous and evil and unthinkable.But thoughts didn't lie, especially ones unshielded as de Medici's were.And before he'd left the advocate's synapses, Shinobu had caught one last fragment.

_He thinks I'm dispensable too!_

Galvanized into action, the silver-haired Empath rose from the couch, a dangerous gleam in his grey eyes.

I may be an offworlder, a backwater hick, but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve that no one knows about.And I refuse to be a pawn in someone else's master plan.I've been playing the dilettante far too long.I think it's about time these Gaians found out how dangerous their little pet can be!

~

Morgan le Freya stormed out of the Administrative Guild hall and blindly followed a random path.She ignored the chirping of birds, the splash of the wall fountains that periodically accented the covered archway.She paid no heed to the students and scientists she brushed past.She was busily calculating her severance pay, running through the list of First Families and cursing Mitsuru Ikeda all at the same time.

I'm the best.The best, dammit!They'd all be fools if they don't hire me!I've been trained at hand-to-hand combat, tactical weaponry and covert assassination since I was fifteen!I rose in the ranks and made Commander at twenty!I served four of the First Families before de Medici commissioned me.I'm the best!The best!

The redhead lengthened her pace furiously.The rational part of her brain told her that throwing a tantrum was useless and that she would be much better off focusing her energy in other ways.But the emotional part of her, the one that identified most closely to her half-Celtic, half-Spanish blood, encouraged the rant and even fed the fires by bringing to mind the cause of her present situation.

_Mitsuru Ikeda.You puling, ineffectual, impotent whoreson!You…you…orgamech!I hate you!_

Morgan added a few other insults that she'd heard her officers use and which, back when she had been a fledge, had made her blush furiously at their inventiveness.Now, however, she ran the gamut of her extensive knowledge of curse words, punctuating each one with a fierce stomp as she marched on.

Then the rational part asserted itself and Morgan had to admit she sounded childish and stupid.Was it really Ikeda's fault?He had done nothing to her.He had been nothing but an assignment, a commission.Why did she let him get to her like this?

_Because he's an orgamech!_

But even that excuse was beginning to sound old and frayed.Morgan knew better than to let her personal feelings get in the way of her career, a career she had built on her own with no help from anyone.A career she had sought after since as long as she could remember.A career that would now be tainted if she failed to cover up her tracks.

Okay, le Freya, knock it off.Let's get down to business.How much money do we have and how long will it last before we can scare up a new commission?

Morgan rounded a corner, thinking furiously.She was not paying attention to where she was going and it took her an inordinately long amount of time to register the arm that pulled her close to a rock-hard stomach and the knife that magically appeared against her throat.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A voice whispered in her ear as she tensed to throw her captor over her shoulder.

"And why not?" Morgan hissed angrily, preparing to pay no heed to the advice.

"Because I can kill you with a thought."To prove his point, Shinobu crept into her mind and made her believe that she was not getting any air into her lungs.Morgan found herself gasping violently.

"Have I made myself clear?" The Empath eased up on his control enough, allowing the woman to respond.

"Who are you?What do you want from me?"

"I'm the nightmare you thought you'd left under your bed when you grew up.You caused me a lot of pain, lady, but lucky for you, I don't have time to seek vengeance.Right now, I need you to get me and my friend out of here and down to Third tier."

"What the hell are you talking about?What did I ever do to you?And why do you need me?It's a free city; go down the chutes yourselves!" Morgan's mind raced as she tried to make sense of this unforeseen turn of events.This was definitely not her day.

"Listen to me!Are you listening?" Shinobu pushed the knife deeper into her skin and drew blood, simultaneously grabbing hold of her mind again and squeezing.Morgan nodded helplessly, about to pass out from what she believed was lack of oxygen."Good.I know I can use the chutes, but my friend is a bit persona non grata around here at the moment and I'd rather not call attention to our departure.With your Guardian status, you can clear us through and do so with minimum fuss.Understand?"

"For your information, I'm no longer a Guardian, at least not right now.I've been dismissed from service."

"Ah, but only a certain number of people know that, right?News doesn't travel that quickly around here.If we act fast, we'll be able to get out of here with no one the wiser."

"And then?"

"And then what?"

"Once I get you to the City, what then?"

"Then you'll be free to go.You have my word."

"The word of a madman!Why should I trust you?"

"Do you have a choice?" Again, Shinobu exerted his control over her mind.Morgan gritted her teeth but knew when she was beaten.

"Fine.Let's go."

~

Mitsu woke up for the second time that day and felt like something was missing.Besides his hair, that is.

Well, it's not pain, that's for sure.Hello, pain.I see you're back.Friendly little pain, aren't you?Did you miss me?

The conman rose from the bed slowly and took stock of his present situation.Another room, another headache.Would this day never end?He glanced around and noted furniture.And, more importantly, a door.

_So now I'm not a prisoner?What the hell is going on around here?And what is it that I'm missing?_

Mitsu poked around in his head and wracked his brain to come up with an answer.Then it hit him.He was no longer tuned in to the Hub.The void he was feeling was the silence in his skull, the non-presence of the electronic hum that had become a part of his subconscious since he'd been 'troded at seventeen.

They extracted my wetware.Oh, this is choice.Just peachy keen!First my hair, now my 'trodes.What next?Ritual castration?

Mitsu was past caring.So many things had happened at once and he was tired.All he knew was that he'd fallen into the hands of a psycho Guardian bitch who had seduced him, assaulted him, juiced him, locked him up, insulted him and, to top it all off, had taken away his one chance at escaping.Because, without his 'trodes, he had no way of accessing the Hub, the _Moirai_ or his crew.He was stuck in gods knew where and he didn't even know what he'd done to land him here in the first place.

They don't do this to any old runner, so I know it's not because of my smuggling.And that bitch called me by my real name so she's got to be in cahoots with some pretty important people.Wait a goddamned second here!Guardians?Extraction?Holy hell, I think I'm aboveside!

Mitsu groaned in despair, buried his head in his hands and began to pray.They'd finally caught him.After eleven years on the run, hiding out and pretty much trying to eliminate all traces of his past affiliation with the upper tiers, he was back where he started.He didn't even try to see if the door was locked or not.It didn't matter.If he truly was aboveside, there was no place left to run.

Well, R'Ikeda, looks like your luck's finally run out.The only thing that can save you now is a guardian angel.

"Will we do?" 

Mitsu's head whipped up at the sound of that voice, the one that suspiciously resembled the smoky whispering in his head from earlier.He gaped incredulously at the two people framed by the doorway.

"You?And you!" The conman's eyes widened when he spied the silver-haired stranger but narrowed dangerously when he noted the redhead.

"Hey, Ikeda.Let's go.We're here to rescue you." Morgan announced sourly.

"Is this some sort of a sick joke?Are you nuts?I'm not going anywhere with you!" Mitsu folded his arms across his chest and frowned mutinously.

"Fine.Have it your way.Am I free to go now?" Morgan glanced at her captor irately.The knife had been put away so as not to arouse suspicion as they walked the Academy halls and the woman had regained a bit of her spit and vinegar in the absence of the weapon.

"Mitsuru Ikeda, this is no joke." Shinobu ignored the redhead and stared, entranced, at the conman.He was just as beautiful as his mind had been.And just as dangerous.The light and the shadow.In the flesh.A little thrill of excitement threaded through the Empath.

"Yeah?And I should believe you, right?You're the freak that got inside my head and screwed with my mind.I don't like 'ware rapists." Mitsu growled, his fingers itching for the blaster he didn't have.

"We don't have time for this!I'll explain everything later!Right now, we've got to get you to your ship and as far away from Avalon as possible!" Shinobu felt a stabbing hurt in his chest as he realized his excitement was not mutual.But time was of the essence and the Empath needed to convince Mitsu of his sincerity.He buried his hurt deep.

"Why?" Mitsu continued being difficult.

"Because de Medici has plans for you.For us.And they aren't pretty." 

At the mention of the name, Mitsu turned ashen."De Medici?That family is behind all this?Why didn't you say so in the first place, man?Let's get the hell outta here!" 

The conman hurried to the door, stumbled as his legs betrayed him.His body, having gone through a series of traumatic experiences, finally crapped out.Shinobu was there to catch him.Unfortunately, doing so meant relinquishing his grasp of Morgan's arm and mind.The woman slapped at the com on her left shoulder and screamed:

"Guardians!Breach in recovery!To me!"

"Idiot!"

Mitsu, one arm draped across Shinobu's shoulders, clamped down on Morgan's wrist with his free hand at the same time that the Empath resumed his hold over her mind.Moving awkwardly as one, the unlikely trio made for the nearest chute terminal.

  



	6. The Rogues' Gallery

**Chapter 6: The Rogues' Gallery**

"This is ridiculous! What are we waiting for?"

"Hiro?"

"Don't look at me! I was the one who said this was a suicide mission. Gunner?"

"Well, as I see it, they have us outnumbered."

"True dat."

"And they have us outgunned."

"We hear ya."

"So what we have here, fellows, is a rock and a hard place."

"Huh?"

"A veritable Scylla and Charybdis."

"Who's Scylla?"

"And what does Char have anything to do with this? I thought he was guarding the Moirai."

"Greek mythology, you morons! That's where Char – our Charybdis – got his name."

"You mean Char's named after a rock?"

"No, I think it's the hard place."

"Huh. Who woulda thunk?"

"Will you guys shut up and let me think!" Gunner groaned into his drink while the rest of the crew looked at him quizzically.

"Yeah, sure, Gunner. Whatever you say." Rhys glanced at Rigo who shrugged his shoulders, as confused as the other as to Gunner's exasperation.

"Okay. We've been scoping out the holding cell for the past hour and nothing's happening, right?" Gunner thought out loud.

"Yeah. And we've been drinking this swill for the better part of that hour too!" Kazuya whined, raising his glass and frowning at the liquid in distaste.

"You got a better idea, brat? You want we go back to the original plan and blast our way into the cell?" Gunner cuffed the boy on the head and the redhead winced. He was really getting tired of being everyone's punching bag.

"But you were the one suggested we do that in the first place," Kazuya reminded him acidly.

"Yeah, then I changed my mind. Anyone else got a problem with that?" The large man shook his fist menacingly and the others were wise enough to shake their heads.

"Oh, gods! It's hot. What are we gonna do now?" Rhys swiped his shaggy brown hair from his brow and inched closer to Rigo, who had the lion's share of the shade under the awning.

"Look. Here's Brek. Let's see what he found out." Raffe, who had been silent for the most part as was usually the case, jerked his chin at the approaching simian. The others swiveled around eagerly.

"Well, he's not there." The engineer announced without preamble as he shoved Rhys aside and sat down heavily next to Rigo. The displaced youth sighed dramatically as he lost the shade but deferred to the older crew member nonetheless.

"It took you twenty minutes to find that out?" Kazuya was incredulous.

"Silence, youngling, before I smack the piss right outta you!" Brek snarled.

Kazuya made an obscene gesture with his finger and stuck out his tongue. Along with Kazuhiro and Gunner, Brek was one of the original members of the Moirai and was like an uncle to the boy. For all the simian's bluff and bluster, he didn't scare Kazuya a bit.

"So what else do you know, Brek?" Kazuhiro, ever the peacemaker, interrupted what looked to be the beginnings of another impromptu scuffle.

"Nothing. Nada. None of the vendors saw a damned thing. And that old sentry? Friend of mine? He says all's been quiet in Sector 4 since he went on duty at dawn. And he's a regular gossip, that fart. If anyone knew anything, it woulda been him." Brek sniffed at Kazuya's drink before grabbing the glass from the boy's hand and gulping its contents down. The redhead smirked as the simian choked on the aftertaste.

"So if the captain ain't in the holding cells, where could he be? There aren't a lot of places in the City that he can't get out of," Rigo scratched at his shock of white hair in puzzlement.

"Anyone try their links again?" Brek asked.

"We've been doing that since you left." Kazuhiro answered quietly.

"And?"

"Not a beep. It's like Mitsu just disappeared off our scopes."

"Well, it's a damned good thing we didn't go running amok in the streets, aye, fellows?" Raffe fingered his eye patch languidly.

"Why aren't you more worried?" Kazuya looked at the man suspiciously. He'd never liked the one-eyed bastard and Raffe had made it clear often enough that he shared the boy's hostility.

"Because if I know Mitsu R'Ikeda, he's probably laughing his head off at this very minute, wondering why we've gotten ourselves all worked up over nothing. Hell, he probably staged the whole damned thing at Sartre's as a practical joke!" Raffe sneered at his nemesis.

"But what about the Morrigu?" Rigo reminded them.

"What about her?" Raffe scoffed. "The catman just said she had red hair. Suka here has red hair. Is he the Morrigu too?"

The others laughed nervously, more as an outlet for their tension than a true appreciation for the weak joke. Aside from being the wrong gender, Kazuya couldn't even come close to being the Morrigu. Rhys had regaled the crew often enough with stories about her, a fearsome Guardian whose prowess with weaponry was only exceeded by her skill in devising the most heinous of tortures for her captives. The Celt's silver tongue had been so convincing that the woman had reached mythic status amongst them. None had ever really laid eyes on the Morrigu except for Rhys but they took his word that she was someone they all wouldn't want to meet alone in a blind alley.

"So we wait, then," Kazuhiro brought them back to the task at hand.

"Yes. That seems to be the best plan," Gunner agreed. "Someone 'trode on and let Char know to stand down. I don't think we'll be needing him for right now."

Brek grunted and slid a palmscreen from his vest pocket, hooking his 'trodes on to relay the message. Rhys drew forth his ubiquitous pair of dice and cajoled Kazuya into a game while Raffe slapped a tune disk in his ear and closed his good eye to better appreciate the music. Rigo looked around for women. Rigo was always looking around for women.

"Do you think Raffe's right?" Kazuhiro asked Gunner softly after he'd made sure the others were occupied.

"About this being some kind of prank? No. I don't think so. Mitsu may be the king of practical jokes, but he wouldn't have kept us wondering this long. He knows we're due to complete that run today. He'd even swiped Jed's pin last night so he could trade up our cargo for some of that wine Benito loves so much."

"Jed? You called him?"

"Yeah, while you guys were trying your links. He doesn't know where Mitsu is either. And man, that boy is plenty pissed! He had to fork over thirty creds to cover his missing pin."

"His loss." Kazuhiro dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. None of the crew could stand the Gaian; he was a pompous prick who lorded over them because of his cushy position as flyer for one of the First Families. The only reason they tolerated him was because of Mitsu. There was a history between those two but no one knew the details. It was like that with Mitsu. Mystery on top of mystery.

"I think the Captain's in serious trouble." Gunner was unnaturally concerned and Kazuhiro felt his anxiety levels increase as well. "If Guardians are involved, and upper tier ones at that, I dunno if we'll even be able to find him, much less get his ass out from wherever he fell into."

"You're worrying me, Gunn."

"Yeah, I'm worrying me too."

"Guys? Hey, guys? I think something's going down at the chute terminal," Rigo sat up suddenly, his quest for women forgotten as his sharp eyes spotted a ruckus several meters away. A blaster appeared magically in his hand.

The shouts drew nearer as a wave of people parted to reveal three figures stumbling into view. A cadre of Guardians were hot on their trail behind them. Rigo spotted the sharp laser fire before he heard it, peered against the glare of the sun, then knocked over his chair as he stood up.

"Guys! It's the captain! It's Mitsu! And it looks like he's hurt!"

Moving with the perfect synchronicity of a crew that had fought side by side for years, the men of the _Moirai_ surged forward to protect their leader. Gunner, with his long legs, reached the trio first. Barely flicking a glance at the other two, the man heaved his captain over his shoulder and began to run in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Gunner." Mitsu spoke to the man's back.

"Hey, yourself, Captain. What kind of mess have you gotten into this time?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Guardians. Juiced 'trodes. Kidnapping."

"Oh. The usual." Gunner snorted.

"Hey, Gunner?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Duck!"

The pilot did as he was told without question and barely escaped getting his head fried by a laser blast. Mitsu craned his neck up to make sure they were in the clear but his vision was a bit shaky since his chin kept thumping unceremoniously on Gunner's spine as the man ran on.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Anytime, Gunner. You know I've always got your back!"

"Mitsu! How's it hangin'?" Kazuhiro caught up with the two and kept pace, occasionally turning back to fire off his blaster.

"How do you guys do it?" The blond asked wonderingly.

"Do what?"

"Run and banter at the same time."

"Skill, little sib. Pure skill!" Kazuhiro grinned and shot behind him indiscriminately. The blast was followed by a loud howl.

"Did you just shoot your brother, Hiro?" Mitsu peered at the mass of men in hot pursuit.

"Probably. The sprat doesn't know how to run and dodge at the same time."

Another yowl screeched over the noise of the crowd, a banshee war cry that pierced Mitsu's already-tender brain.

"And I assume that was Rhys?"

Gunner grunted in acknowledgment and Kazuhiro chuckled. "Did you think any of the men would want to be left out of the fun, sir?"

"If this is your idea of fun, Hiro, I'd hate to be with you when you're not having any. Where are we going, by the way?"

"The _Moirai_, sir. Trout and Char are there and I just 'troded to let them know the sitch," Rigo joined the three, his wire still attached to the port behind his left ear.

"Good man. Whew! All this running is making me tired. You tired yet, Gunner?" Mitsu called up at his sherpa.

"Not in the least, Captain. 'Sides, we're almost there."

Mitsu risked a look around from his precarious position and realized the man had spoken the truth. The narrow alleyways of the City had given way to the flat, open expanse that signaled their close proximity to the docking bays. Behind them, Mitsu noted the rest of his crew several meters in front of the persistent Guardians who had followed him and his rescuers down the chute. His men were providing ample cover with their blasters, keeping themselves between their pursuers and their captain. The sight just warmed the very cockles of Mitsu's heart.

Then the conman spied the bitch and the freak running in the midst of his crew. He frowned. What were they doing? They should have surrendered a long time ago. Mission accomplished, right? They'd gotten him away from Second tier. If they didn't give themselves up now, they'd be counted accomplices and would be fugitives just like him.

Before he could ponder the matter further, Gunner hauled him off his shoulders and set him against the landing gear of the _Moirai_.

"Sorry, Captain. Gotta fire up the old girl. You okay on your own?"

"Go, Gunner! Get us outta here. Oh, hiya, Trout! How's my gal?" As if he'd just stepped off a pleasure cruiser, Mitsu nonchalantly ruffled the girl's hair, all the while keeping a death grip on the metal he was propped against. It was all he could do to keep himself standing. He was wiped out. Trout, sensing this, kept close to him, clutching at his vest tightly.

Then the conman remembered his position as captain of the ship and he called forth the last vestiges of strength he had left, thumping each member of his crew heartily on the shoulder even as they leaped past him, blasters still blazing.

"Rigo. Hiro. Rhys. Raffe. Kazuya. And Brek. Thank you, Brek," Mitsu confiscated the simian's blaster as he rushed past and proceeded to cover for them just as they had done for him. "Trout, get in there. We're about to take off. And…whoa! Wait a minute! Who invited you?" The conman raised his blaster at the remaining two.

"Are you crazy, Ikeda? Let us in! They're shooting at us!" Morgan brushed aside the weapon and tried to push past him.

"Uh-uh! Nothin' doin', lady. Those are your men out there. Why don't you call them off like a good little commander and buy us some time for lift off. And take your freak Empath with you."

"Ikeda! Shut up and move! I don't know why, but they were shooting at me too! They must have found out I've been dismissed! And those idiots probably think I'm helping you!" Morgan yelled.

"My heart bleeds, lady," Mitsu drawled then shot over her head to expertly pick off one of the Guardians.

The man's compatriots, seeing him go down, immediately took cover behind the cargo boxes littering the docking bay and the firing ceased momentarily as they reconvened.

"Mitsuru, please!" Shinobu stood firm beside Morgan and pleaded urgently. He didn't want to use his skill if he didn't have to but the conman was proving difficult again now that he was on his home turf.

"Don't call me that! That isn't my name! Now get off my ship before I fry your knees off!" Mitsu felt the rumble of the _Moirai_ as she began her flight prep. Behind him, he could hear the faint calls of his crew above the sudden whine of the engines.

"Going so soon, Mitsu? And not even a thank you for your old friend?" From the shadows, a figure emerged.

"Char! You're a sight for sore eyes!" Mitsu grinned at the catman. "Thanks for guarding my two favorite girls! Can you do me one last favor? Can you get these yahoos off my ship?"

"I'll do you one better, old friend."

Mitsu's grin faded as he felt a slice of fire knife at his abdomen. Looking down disbelievingly, he stared at his scorched vest then at the smoking blaster in Charybdis's paw.

"Char?" The conman's voice trembled like a child betrayed and he felt his world buckling as he slid against the landing gear and onto the deck, Brek's blaster falling from his grasp.

As Shinobu and Morgan dragged him into the _Moirai_, the Guardian palming the airlock doors and yelling at Gunner to take off, Mitsu's last thought brought a wry twist to his lips.

_If I'd known how often I'd be passed out today, I would never have gotten out of my jammies_.

Then the inevitable blackness enveloped him once again.

The _Moirai_ whined her eagerness to lift off. Within her sleek, silver hull, the crew scampered to oblige their mistress. Gunner sat at the flight controls, punching buttons with nimble ferocity. Beside him, Brek strapped in and began slamming down levers, making the blinking yellow lights turn a comforting green as the ship came to life.

Rigo 'troded in to the ship's mainframe and set random coordinates while Raffe and Rhys bounded down the cargo hatch to secure their freight. Kazuhiro rushed to the med bay with Trout in tow; it was where they both usually stowed themselves during pre-flight so as not to get in the way. Kazuya clambered up the gunner pod and grimly prepared to kick some Guardian ass.

Everyone was too involved to realize that the _Moirai_ had two extra members on board. Shinobu knelt down next to Mitsu, cradling the man's head in his lap. The Empath's eyes were shut tight and veins striated his temples as he strained frantically to steady the injured captain's erratic heartbeat. Next to the pair, Morgan le Freya, six-year veteran of the Corps, ex-Commander of the de Medici Guardian Elite, and unused to feeling superfluous, began to bark orders.

"Go, go, go! What are you waiting for? Lift off now!"

Outside, the Guardians had finally finished conferring with each other and proceeded with their attack. The woman ducked instinctively as the pinging of recommenced laser fire glanced loudly off the outer airlock hatch.

"I'm goosing her as fast as I can!" Gunner roared back, not looking up from the flight panel. Then he started at the unfamiliar voice. "Wait a hot-blasted second! Who the hell are you?"

"Never mind that! Get us off grav now! There's an insane catman out there and he's out for blood!"

"Char? Lady, you've got your 'trodes crossed. That catman's on our side!" Brek let out a sharp laugh and Gunner muttered assent. Neither man bothered to investigate the stranger in their midst; the strafe of lasers was a bit distracting.

Morgan did not take kindly to being discounted. Or to being laughed at, for that matter. So she took a malicious delight in announcing: "On your side, huh? Is that why he just put an interesting little hole in your captain's stomach with his blaster?"

"WHAT?!"

That got the flight crew's attention. Gunner half-rose from his seat before realizing he was harnessed in. He was yanked back abruptly and he fell against the controls, arm bouncing off random buttons. The _Moirai_ bucked in protest.

"Gunner! Knock it off! I can't get a bead on anyone if you keep handling m'lady like a fledge in flight school!" Kazuya yelled down from his tower.

"Easy…easy…" Brek reached over and slapped at more buttons. The yellow turned green once more.

"Hiro! On deck! Pronto! The captain's down!" Gunner punched the com and hollered into it even as he brushed Brek away and resumed command of the controls.

"Gunn, I've got a lock on coordinates. She's ready when you are."

"Roger that, Rigo. I'll take it from here."

"Woo hoo! Another one bites the dust!"

"Suka, try not to enjoy yourself too much. Those aren't game droids out there; they're human beings too, even if they are Guardians!"

"Sorry, Gunn!" Kazuya called although his tone was unrepentant and he let out another whoop as he fired and picked off one more.

"Everyone strapped in?" Brek grinned as his panel finally shone a unanimous green.

"What about the captain?"

"Hiro!" Gunner yelled into the com again.

"What are you waiting for, man? Get us the frag outta here!"

"I'm doing my best, lady, but we need to take care of the captain."

"No time, no time! She's right, Gunn! We gotta bail! They're pulling out the pulse cannon and I can't stop anything that big."

"Easy…easy…"

"Rhys! Raffe! You guys strap in down there!"

"Roger that, Gunn!"

"Gotcha!"

"Gunn, they're getting ready to pulse!"

"I hear ya, Suka! Give me one more second. Hiro!"

"Hai!"

The medic rushed onto the flight deck and took stock of the situation. His brother was right; there was no time to get Mitsu into a med pod. The Moirai listed to the side as a particularly concentrated blast of laser fire connected with her hull. Kazuhiro's mind raced. Then, shoving Morgan aside, the medic pulled Mitsu from Shinobu's grasp. The Empath immediately crumpled to the deck, spent.

Clutching his captain firmly against his chest, Kazuhiro leaned against the magnetite panels that lined the airlock walls. Brek had installed them to remedy the lack of space on board the Morai; the magnetic sheets did an excellent job of securing extra cargo. Kazuhiro didn't know if it would work for humans too but he was running out of options. Morgan, face puzzled but game for anything, put her back against the walls too. Shinobu lay unconscious on the deck.

"Goddammit, Gunn! The cannon's primed and my gages are low! I can't keep this up much longer!" Kazuya's laser fire was sounding intermittent.

"Give me one more second, Suka! Hiro…" Gunner bellowed desperately. He needed to know his captain was secure before he loosed his lady.

"I don't have a second to give, Gunn! We gotta go now!"

Kazuhiro hesitated. He looked down at Mitsu in his arms then back at the silver-haired stranger in Empath robes who had apparently helped his captain escape capture. Kazuhiro made up his mind. Leaping forward, Mitsu in tow, the medic snatched at Shinobu then fell back on the wall again, activating the magnetite panels with his left shoulder. He felt his body pull up hard against the screens, locking him and his two charges in place. To his right, Morgan grinned in relief.

"Captain's secure, Gunn. Let 'er rip!"

"It's about goddamned time!"

The _Moirai_ surged off grav not a moment too soon. As she leaped into the sky, roaring her eagerness for flight, the Guardians let loose from the pulse cannon. The shock from the magnetic blast rocked the ship, and her controls flickered at the wave interference. But Brek had prepped her for just such an event and her shields stayed stable. The _Moirai_ scornfully looped out of the aftershock of the blast and tore her way out of the atmosphere.

"How is he?"

"I don't know. The shot just winged him so he should've been okay as soon as I patched him up. He did lose a bit of blood, but nothing a couple of plasma bags couldn't fix. If it hadn't been for that Empath, I would've had to contend with shock as well as physical trauma." Kazuhiro jerked his head in the other pallet's direction but Gunner barely gave it a glance.

"But…?"

"But…nothing. He's not waking up, Gunn. His vitals are okay but it's like something's keeping him under. Something in his head. I'm going to need time to run more tests. Looks like you've got command of m'lady for a little bit longer."

"Hmmm." The pilot harrumphed noncommittally then let his gaze slide to his left.

Morgan twitched from her position in the med bay's doorway. The large Eurasian was looking at her again. It was disconcerting, especially since she was privy to certain information regarding Ikeda's state, information that would have gotten her jettisoned into space had any of the crew known about it.

If she were smart, she should probably have chosen to remain on deck and as inconspicuous as possible. But it simply wasn't in her to abandon downed men, and although her fellow refugees weren't exactly what she'd consider "her men", Morgan still felt a responsibility for them and had followed Kazuhiro into the med bay once they'd made certain of the success of their escape.

Trying to be unobtrusive, the woman chose to ignore the pilot by turning the other way, only to be met by another unblinking gaze. This one belonged to a young girl, about ten years old, who was idly swinging her legs to and fro as she perched on a swivel stool in the corner of the med bay. Morgan vaguely recalled Ikeda calling her by some sort of fish name.

"And the Empath?"

"Nothing physically wrong with him either. But he's out like a light too. I may be out of my league here, Gunn. We should probably head for the Kuiper Belt and see if we can rustle us up a good neurist. And we need supplies anyway. Your little dance with m'lady cost me some rare meds."

"That little dance saved us all from becoming liquefied 'ware juice," Gunner growled in defense of his flying.

"Peace, Gunn. I didn't mean anything by it. Guess my nerves are still fragged, is all." Kazuhiro ran a shaky hand through his long blond hair.

"Ditto, my friend. And you're right. Our first priority right now is figuring out what the hell happened. And if that means the Kuiper Belt to fix up the captain so he can fill us in, then that's where we'll go."

"There are other ways to get that information, you know."

Raffe had sidled into the room behind Morgan and was now leaning against a counter negligently. He winked at Trout who ignored him in favor of her continued scrutiny of the Guardian. Morgan stared back at the girl, indulging in the petty staring match.

Raffe's comment reminded Gunner of the Guardian's presence in the room. As if he could forget her for long. The woman exuded an aura of natural command that spoke to the pilot's ex-military past. Much as he loved and respected Mitsu, Gunner had to admit that his captain ruled by charm and wit rather than the force of will this woman seemed to have in spades.

Realizing she was now the center of attention, Morgan tried to bluster her way out of the awkward, expectant silence. "What? What are you all looking at?"

"I think we'll be the ones asking the questions around here." Gunner rested his fists on his hips and narrowed his eyes in anticipation.

"True dat. Now, question one: what do you know of the Guardian who snatched our captain from Sartre's last night?" Raffe straightened his careless pose and began circling the woman like a hungry piranha.

"Question two: what's a Guardian doing running away from her own kind?" Gunner continued.

"Question three: who shot at the captain? And if you're stupid enough to admit it was you, you'd better be prepared to hold your breath for a long time coz I'm gonna personally boot you out the airlock myself," Raffe stopped behind the woman and leaned close to whisper that last bit in her ear.

He received a swift jab in the ribs for his effort. "Don't threaten me, runner!" Morgan snarled softly, mindful of the two unconscious men in the room but feeling her ire seethe nonetheless.

"Why you impudent little…" Raffe raised his fists to retaliate and promptly fell on his rump as his feet were swept out from under him.

"You're not so popular with the ladies, are you?" Morgan smirked as she rose from her half-crouch and brushed her hands together in satisfaction at getting the better of the larger man.

"Alright! That's it! You and me, bitch! Let's go!" Raffe leaped up, readjusting his eye patch and reaching for his favorite knife.

"Stop it! Both of you! No fighting in my med bay!" Kazuhiro hissed. He stepped firmly between the two combatants and gestured at his patients as a reminder.

Morgan and Raffe had the grace to look sheepish. Then their eyes met and they both tensed for battle again, the woman growling low in her throat. Before it could escalate into a full-blown altercation, Gunner collared the pair with his large hands and dragged them from the room.

"Raff, stand down. We gotta work on your interrogation tactics! And you, lady. You're coming with me. We're gonna get some answers if I have to travel all the way to the Oort cloud and back to do so."

The pilot kept his bulky frame solidly between the two opponents as he led them away from the med bay, down the blue-lit corridors and back to the flight deck. A door slid open as they walked past. Kazuya and Rhys emerged, the redhead whispering something urgently. Morgan, still smarting from the manhandling she was receiving, took no notice of them until a stray word caught her ear.

"…and she looked just like you said the Morrigu would…"

The Guardian tore from Gunner's grasp and whirled around. Startled, the pilot and Raffe also turned just in time to witness a very unexpected reunion.

"Rhys!"

"Morgan?" The sandy-haired Celt staggered back against Kazuya, mouth agape at the sight of his long-lost cousin.

"Tell me about yourself."

"Why?"

"I'm curious. We've known about each other for a long time but you're still a stranger to me."

"What would you like to know?"

"Everything."

Mitsu R'Ikeda grabbed the hand offered to him and stood up, looking around. He was standing on a hill covered by tall crimson grass that rippled in waves as a fierce breeze whipped by. The sun was a molten slice of fire in the horizon, spilling trails of orange in its setting wake. The brilliant colors were not enough, however, to erase the feeling of desolation that swept through the man as he surveyed the land.

"Don't worry. I'm here."

"I know." Mitsu turned to smile at his companion.

"Talk to me."

The wind whipped at Mitsu's long, blonde hair, obscuring briefly his vision of the man standing next to him. Then he felt gentle hands brush aside the wayward strands and he got his first good look at the embodiment of the ghost that had haunted him for the past five years.

The man stood straight and true, not a spare ounce of flesh evident in his well-muscled form. The loose-fitting, long-sleeved white shirt was untucked, open at a vee and exposing a wide expanse of neck and collarbone. It hugged the contours of his sculpted torso as the wind picked up in ferocity and lashed at the fabric. He wore a pair of fawn-colored trousers that molded with skintight perfection to his strong thighs. These were tucked into well-worn black boots that were slightly scuffed at the toes, signifying that they had traveled much.

Mitsu studied his face then. Startling grey-green eyes were set above sharp cheekbones and they danced with a wild fire that sang to Mitsu's soul. The nose was a perfect delineation to the symmetry of his face, bold without being obtrusive. The jaw was proud, the forehead high. But it was his hair that caught Mitsu's imagination. The poet in him wanted to write sonnets for the fine threads that caressed the man's face. Its color defied all adjectives; the closest Mitsu could get was a silver-blue and even that nomenclature seemed inadequate to the reality.

And his voice…it reminded Mitsu of the winter fog that crept through City streets on silken paws: smoky, shadowy and mesmerizing.

"Make me a memory."

"What do you mean?"

"Watch."

The man turned away from Mitsu and held out his arm, sketching something in the air. Slowly, an outline of a horno appeared several meters away, its form coalescing even as the man continued to gesture. Soon, it was as if the pack beast had been there all along. It snuffled once into the crimson grass, then lifted up its head, scenting the two on the hillside. It lumbered away in the opposite direction on heavy, timber-like legs.

"How…?"

"Concentrate. Imagine. Anything is possible here. Now make me a memory."

The wind moaned.

Mitsu closed his eyes and did as he was bid. His subconscious brought forth a face he had not thought of in over a decade and, instinctively, his hands began to scythe the air as the other's had done. His companion watched as a form began to materialize. It was a boy, about early adolescence, short but sturdy in frame. A round face with a slightly pointed chin and merry eyes. A mouth upturned in a cheerful grin. And…pink hair? The man was amused.

Mitsu opened his eyes and stared in wonder at his creation. He looked to the other man proudly, waiting for praise, when suddenly, the image began to shudder. As Mitsu stared in helpless horror, the boy began to melt before his eyes, the skin running in rivulets off the muscle and bone. And the most dreadful part was that the boy kept smiling to the very end.

"Make it stop! Why is it doing that?"

"Be calm. All is well. You chose a memory that didn't want to be seen just yet. Try something easier, less…painful." The man urged gently.

Mitsu looked at him hesitantly then tried again. It was another boy, but this one had a shock of red, shaggy hair, roughly cut and falling haphazardly over a recalcitrant brow. The eyes were a strange shade of pink and the man theorized that Mitsu must have a thing for the color. He didn't say a word, however, but waited for Mitsu to finish.

"Who is that?"

Mitsu blinked and paused for a moment to see if this creation would dissolve as the other had done. When it remained stable, a fierce frown gracing its brow, Mitsu grinned. It was the spitting image of Suka.

"That's Kazuya Hasukawa. But we all call him Suka for short. He hates it, ne, Suka-chan?" Mitsu waved his hand in front of the boy's face.

"He's not real. Only a memory. He won't be able to respond."

"But your horno…"

"I practice a lot. I spend a lot of time in here," the man chuckled at Mitsu's envious tone. "So tell me. What is this Kazuya to you?"

"Kazuya Hasukawa is the son of the man who took me in when…" Mitsu interrupted himself, not wanting to reveal too much too soon. "He's Kazuo's youngest son."

He glanced at his companion out of the corner of his eye and waited for complaint. The man stood, impassive, no censure apparent on his sculpted face. Mitsu gave a small sigh of relief and continued.

"Suka's twenty years old and the youngest member of my crew. He's been on and off the Moirai since he was a kid, but during what Kazuo called his "formative years", Suka was made to stay on-planet with his mother. Oh, he hated it! He wanted to go adventuring just like his older sib. And he loved his father. Wanted to be just like him. I don't blame him; Kazuo was the best runner in his day. Of course, he always said it was because of the Moirai, but we all knew better."

"And how did he become a permanent member of your crew?"

"Ah, Kazuo wanted to retire, said he'd had enough of living the shadier side of the law. Didn't wanna push his luck anymore. He was gonna go straight but was gonna sell the Moirai to another runner; said m'lady was too young to be put out to pasture. I told him I'd buy her off him – in installments, of course. Back then, I didn't have the creds to buy a round of drinks for the crew, let alone an entire smuggling vessel.

Kazuo looked me straight in the eye and – in front of Suka, mind you! - told me that he'd give me the Moirai if I promised never to let Suka on board since he didn't want the boy becoming an old reprobate like his da. Said he wanted Suka to be a horno herder, nice and safe profession.

Then he winked. I knew then that Kazuo really wanted the boy to follow in his footsteps. I mean, Hiro wasn't gonna take over, what with him having his heart set on being a medic and all. But Kazuo had to keep the peace with the wife, ya know? He couldn't exactly just give Suka the ship.

So Kazuo's plan was to get Suka so pissed off that the boy would run away from home on his own and that way, the old man couldn't be held responsible for it. And when I did let the kid on board my ship, he'd be so grateful that I was actually going against the old man's orders that he wouldn't end up resenting the fact that I'd been given the ship instead of him. Of course, once I'm ready to quit the game, the Moirai goes to Suka."

"Wily old man, this Kazuo."

"It's why he was the best! And it all worked well, too. Suka's been with me for six years now and he's a hell of a gunner. Can shoot anything out of the sky with his eyes closed. And thank the gods he hasn't gotten a taste of ordering people around; I'm not ready to give up the Moirai just quite yet."

Mitsu chucked the simulacrum affectionately on the head and watched as it dissipated into the darkening sky. Then he looked at his companion and canted his head to the side.

"You know, this is really weird. I'm sharing things with you and I don't even know your name."

"Does it bother you?" The man quirked his lips slightly.

"Not really. But it's kinda awkward. I mean, how long are we staying here? And do you really want me to keep calling you "that guy" or "hey, you"?" Mitsu sounded a bit plaintive.

This time the man let loose the chuckle he'd been holding in. "True. That would get annoying, wouldn't it? And I think, if you wish, we can stay here for a while longer. So I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Shinobu Tezuka. Ha'llai." He touched the prerequisite two fingers to his temple formally.

"Mind if I call you Shin?"

"Not at all."

The crew convened on the flight deck for lack of any other common area large enough to accommodate them all. Brek remained in his usual spot at the co-pilot's terminal, swiveling the seat around to face the company. Gunner leaned on the armrest of his chair, arms folded and ankles crossed in a pose of studied casualness. Neither men worried about actually flying the _Moirai_ since Rigo had set coordinates for dead space and they were momentarily "anchored" somewhere between Gaia and Ganymede.

Kazuya swung on the ladder to his gunner's pod with a ropy arm, every once in a while executing a pull-up to show off his bicep. Below him and dangerously close to his dangling feet was Trout, sitting legs crossed and blue eyes unblinking as always.

Rigo lounged against his control panel, making sure his rump didn't accidentally depress a button that would send them careening off into Jupiter's orbit. Next to him, Raffe tried to ignore his bruised ribs and ego, not to mention his own tender rump, by reaching for the buttons that Rigo was diligently protecting. The one-eyed man received firm swats on his hand with each attempt.

Kazuhiro was absent, opting to remain in the med bay to monitor his patients' progress, but stealthily keeping his com active so he could spy on the proceedings. Rhys and Morgan took center stage.

"Still carrying that archaic Celtic affectation, I see." The Guardian noted her cousin's claymore with a scornful sniff.

"Aw, Morgan! Give a guy a break, will ya?" Rhys was nervously fidgeting with his sword, sliding it in and out of its scabbard. He seemed more concerned about the other men, though, than the redheaded woman who was glaring at him, shooting sparks of challenge from her green eyes.

"And why should I do that, Rhys Ap Dwyyd? After all the slanderous things you've circulated about me? Not that I care two shits about any of these bastard orgamechs' opinions!"

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you, lady. Raffe's really sensitive about his parentage and I may not be quick enough to stop him this time," Gunner warned from his perch.

Morgan brushed aside the warning with a haughty tilt to her head. It probably wasn't wise to do so, considering she was in the middle of deep space and at the mercy of this miserable band of degenerate scum. However, she was nothing if not confident of her abilities. If need be, she'd bide her time, watch her back and wait till they got to Kuiper. From there, she'd hitch a ride back to Gaia on a more reputable ship. One that wasn't so populated with orgamechs.

"So this is the infamous Morrigu, aye? Not so scary up close." Brek offered heartily, his leather vest shifting to accommodate his expanding chest as he chortled.

"Yeah, Rhys. You're so full of horno crap! I could take her down in a second." Kazuya hooted with a boldness that irritated the woman in question.

"You haven't fought her one on one, Red. She'd kick your bony behind from here to Pluto. Come on, Morgan, show 'em what you're made of." The Celt gave his cousin an encouraging half-grin even as he scooted further away from her. This brought him closer to Raffe who roughly cuffed him on the shoulder and snorted.

Rhys winced. Him and his big mouth! Why'd he have to build up his cuz so much? Now he'd lose all credibility with the crew and he'd go back to being the fledge of the group. Even Suka would have more superiority over him now. Damn and blast it! Why'd Morgan have to show up? He thought he'd seen the last of her in Abellio. Rhys wasn't given time to ponder any further as the woman walked right up to him and gave him a taste of Celtic ire.

"I am not your pet monkey that you can show off to do tricks, bratling!"

"No, you're not. And frankly, now that we've seen you, we're not interested in what you can do. What we'd like to know is what the hell happened back on Gaia and what your involvement is with our captain."

The pilot smiled at her pleasantly enough, as did the other men, but Morgan sensed an undercurrent of menace in that question. Half of her bristled at the implied inadequacy her appearance seemed to indicate but the other half had to admire the loyalty this crew had to their leader. If they hadn't been 'troded, she would actually have considered recruiting them into a cadre. She'd witnessed them in action and, for all their gruff and slipshod ways, they had proven to be quick thinkers and able fighters. She at least had to respect them for that.

"Listen, I don't owe allegiance to anyone anymore, except maybe to myself. I'll tell you all I know if I have your word that you'll let me go my own way once we hit planetside. And," Morgan lifted a finger to insert an addendum as she noted a suspicious gleam in Raffe's eye, "I also want your word that I shall arrive at Kuiper unmolested."

"Hell, lady, we're not that hard up! And it's not as if we need another person mucking about on the Moirai anyway." Gunner's comment made the crew chuckle wryly in agreement. "Sure, you'll be free to leave once we hit the Kuiper, and we won't even breathe on you till you get there. Deal?"

Morgan eyed the hand Gunner extended. Then she glanced at Raffe who appeared disgruntled at the turn of events. She'd made an enemy of the man and she knew her only chance of surviving the trip intact, without having to worry about finding a knife in her back in the meantime, was to accept the pilot's offer. She exhaled softly and clasped the hand.

"Deal."

Then, at the expectant looks from the crew, she drew a deep breath and began.

"Shin, can I ask you something?"

"Hai."

"Where are we?"

"Don't you like it here?"

Mitsu fell back on the tall grass and put his arms behind his head. Above him, the sky was a kaleidoscope of rupturing comets and spinning stars. The sun had long since sighed its goodbye and the only light came from the phosphorescence that exuded mysteriously from the alien flora.

"Well, yeah! I mean, this is one hell of a view!" The blonde flung out an arm and gestured at the swirling heavens. "The only thing missing now is a good stim. You wouldn't by any chance…?"

Shinobu shook his head regretfully.

"Ah, I didn't think so." Mitsu didn't sound too broken up about it as he stretched languorously.

"So you approve of this?"

"Oh, gods, yes!"

"Then it doesn't matter where "here" is, does it?" Shinobu smiled faintly at the other's exuberant response.

"True. But why do I have a feeling you're avoiding my question?" Mitsu peered at the vague outline of the man sitting beside him.

"Why don't you tell me more about yourself."

"Like I said, avoiding my question." Mitsu reached over to poke him in the ribs but Shinobu was ready, and the conman's finger was painfully met by a wall of solid, muscled abs.

"Ow?" Mitsu withdrew the offended digit and waited for an apology.

He waited in vain.

"Ah, hell. I'm not gonna win this, am I?"

"Not really."

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Well, you were doing so well with your crew. Why don't we continue with them?"

"Okay. You already know Suka. I guess I can show you the other men I inherited along with the Moirai."

Mitsu sat up and furrowed his brow in concentration. The darkness helped. And he found he didn't need to draw in the air with his hands, just simply needed to think of the subjects he wanted. Slowly, three forms emerged before the pair.

Standing at approximately 180 centimeters, the first figure was lean and sparse, clad in a pair of loose-fitting combat-green trousers that were tightly cinched at the waist. A plain, white, short-sleeved shirt tucked into the pants, a rugged hornoskin vest riddled with pockets, and sturdy brown boots completed his ensemble. Perched on a determined nose were round-lensed specs, a curiosity in a world long-used to physical enhancements. Blonde and grey-eyed, he had the same pointed chin and expressive eyebrows as the man who conjured him up.

"Your brother?" Shinobu inquired quizzically.

"He looks like it, doesn't he?" Mitsu grinned proudly. "Nah. That's actually Suka's sib, Kazuhiro Hasukawa. He's Kazuo's medic son I told you about. Great guy, the peacekeeper of the group. He was on board, tending to the crew, even before I got there. Supposedly, he's something of a genius. I wouldn't know; I don't have much reason to visit the med bay. I do know this, though: Hiro's amazingly calm and level-headed. He always pulls us together whenever there's a situation. He gets it from his dad, I guess. Don't know what I'd do without him. The only time I've ever seen him lose it was when Suka got tore up that one time in the Callisto sector."

"He loves his brother a lot, then?"

"More than he lets on." There was a wistful tone in Mitsu's voice as he gazed fondly at the medic.

"And this?"

"Ah, Brek!"

Kazuhiro faded away, to be replaced by the simian at center stage. Brek was an anomaly. No one knew if he was the product of genetic encoding or if he chose to enhance himself to be what he was. No one wanted to ask. With his over-long arms that almost dragged the ground and his protruding brow, Brek was a daunting endomorphic specimen. But although the resemblance to Neanderthals was clearly evident, there was no trace of the early humans' dim-wittedness in the simian's sharp, brown eyes.

"He's fair intimidating." Shinobu noted clinically.

"Actually, Brek's the most diplomatic of the bunch. Go figure, with that scary mug of his! Everyone loves Brek. Oh, sure, he gets testy at times and Suka's the bane of his existence, always driving him mad with his whining and all. But Brek's the go-to guy if you want information. He can sit and talk to total strangers and in seconds, he's like their best friend. And he's a whiz at tinkering with gadgets. Tell him what you want and he can make it with spit and a shoestring, given enough time. He's our engineer and all-around fix-it man."

"And he was also an original member of your ship?"

"Yeah. Knows the _Moirai_ like the back of his hand. Made me feel completely unnecessary my first coupla months as captain. Didn't know if he approved of my taking over for Kazuo or not. Then we did that run over on Callisto, when Suka got hurt, right? And I had a helluva time getting us away from those colony sentries. But I did it and I guess I musta impressed the guy coz he's watched my back without question ever since."

"You sound like you didn't have any easy transition from crew member to captain."

Mitsu blinked at his companion's perceptiveness. Then he waggled a finger knowingly. "Uh-uh. No way. You're not getting any more outta me. I've been talking your ear off for the past twenty clicks and I'll be damned if I give you any more information unless you 'fess up and tell me something about you."

Shinobu smiled grimly, the grass's faint glow limning his chiseled jaw with shadows. His grey eyes glinted with a fierce light but he was calm when he spoke: "My life isn't half as interesting as yours. Besides, don't we have one more?"

Mitsu scowled, undeterred this time. "You're changing the subject again."

"I am, aren't I? Well, how about that?"

The conman huffed and blew the bangs from his forehead. He'd only known Shinobu for less than twenty-four hours but he was learning quite a bit about the man and his traits. A gentle stubbornness was one of the traits that Mitsu was becoming well acquainted with.

"Fine. But you owe me."

"Indeed."

Mitsu drew forth the last figure he'd created, dissipating Brek's replica into the night as he did so.

"This is Gunner." He said without preamble and Shinobu studied the man closely, alerted by the deep respect in Mitsu's voice as he presented the new facsimile.

If Brek was imposing in stature, Gunner was positively menacing. It wasn't that he was any bigger or taller; yes, he had more than his fair share of muscles and was heftier by far than Mitsu and Shinobu put together, but he was nothing compared to the simian. Shinobu tried to place the caution he immediately felt upon looking at the man, and then he had it: it was the eyes. Gunner Lao had the meanest, soul-scything eyes the Empath had ever seen.

Shinobu was uncertain how much of the man's simulacrum was truth or a projection of Mitsu's perception of him. Of all the memories so far, this was the sharpest and most detailed. Aside from the exactness of his almond-shaped brown eyes, Mitsu had captured perfectly his close-cropped auburn hair, prematurely graying at the temples, and his wide cheekbones that spoke of Asian descent. The man's bulging biceps and wide shoulders signalled intense physical training, as did his washboard stomach and enormous thighs. The lethal power that emanated from him was ill-concealed by the nondescript tunic and breeches the man wore.

"Gunner's my pilot. And he acts as captain when I'm otherwise incapacitated." There was a wry twist to Mitsu's lips when he said that, indicating that his "incapacitation" was less than life-threatening. "He was Kazuo's second in command, too, when I first joined them. He scared the living hell outta me for a whole year."

"Why was that?"

"Gunner doesn't need a blaster. Gunner doesn't carry any kind of weapon. Gunner can snap a man's neck with his bare hands, toss down five liters of Hypno's strongest poison, then loop circles around Guardian cutwings with a song in his heart, all in the span of an hour. He's the meanest, coldest sonuvabitch to his enemies."

"But what about his friends?"

"He'd cut off his right arm for them."

"Does he consider you a friend?"

"Oh, gods, I hope so. Because he's the only one who can fly the hell out of my ship. I wouldn't have completed half the runs I've done without him. If Brek is the _Moirai_'s flesh and bone, then Gunner's her brain."

Mitsu seemed pensive, absently shredding a stalk of grass as he stared at the pilot. Shinobu took a hard look at the brooding cast that shadowed his face and grasped him firmly on the shoulder.

"That may be, but you are her heart and soul."

"What a load of crap!"

"I'm going for a drink. Anyone else coming?"

"I hear ya."

In a unanimous show of disgust, the crew dispersed. Kazuya crawled up to his gunner pod and Rigo stalked off to the galley for the desired libation, Raffe not far behind. Trout glanced up at Kazuya's retreating form then down the shadowy corridor in indecision. Making up her mind as to which swain needed her attention most, she scampered out the room toward the med bay. Brek swiveled back to face his terminal, whistling a tuneless ditty.

"What? What did I say?" Morgan fumed in bewilderment.

It really was too much! Bad enough she had to explain herself to a bunch of off-planet rogues, but to have all of them display such disrespect was this side from unconscionable! She would never have tolerated such irreverence from her own cadre. By the gods, none of them had been dismissed!

"Le Freya, you may have forgotten, so I'll let it go this time. But, a reminder: we are not your men, we are not military, and we don't obediently swallow crap doled out to us like your good little soldiers. You've got to work on your story more if you want to convince us of it." Gunner frowned darkly.

"But I was telling the truth!"

Rhys, who had chosen not to join the mass exodus out of a displaced sense of loyalty to family, now shook his head in exasperation. "Aw, come on, Morgan! The captain, a First Family member? And a long-lost one at that? You've gotta be kidding!"

"It's true, you dolt! I saw all the files myself!" Morgan clenched her fists in agitation. The disbelief was grating on her nerves.

"Well, why don't you just 'trode right in and prove it?" Gunner challenged, gesturing toward Rigo's panel.

"I'm not an orgamech," the woman spat out, managing to make the word sound more like an invective than a label.

"More's the pity." Gunner took her obvious disregard in stride and turned the tables on her, making Morgan feel inferior and having her almost wish she had the electrodes to provide them with instantaneous access to the data she possessed.

Then she came to her senses and was about to berate herself for the foolish thought but Gunner was still talking.

"Besides, I really don't care about the captain's past. That's his business. If he wants to tell us about it, he will. What I want to go back to is this de Medici bastard. What were his plans for the captain once he had him?"

"I don't know."

"Now I know you're lying."

"I don't know! Aristos don't tell subordinates their master plan! What do you think this is, some sort of spy vid? He hired me, I took his creds, I did my job. End of story."

Gunner and Morgan faced off and Rhys backed away wisely. In fact, carrying that wisdom to its apex, Rhys hastily left the room. Brek exercised some caution of his own and kept his face firmly forward, gazing out the plas shield and imagining patterns in the stars. It was very calming.

"Lady, if you're keeping something from me…" the pilot growled ominously.

"I swear I've told you everything!" Morgan snarled back.

The com blinked and Kazuhiro's voice came on. He was almost incoherent in his outrage.

"Gunner, you'd better come to the med bay. And bring that woman with you. I just ran some scans on Mitsu and you're not gonna like this."

The pilot narrowed his eyes briefly then broke contact with the Guardian, turning from her abruptly and almost running off the deck. The simian looked like he'd fallen asleep – typical! – so Morgan felt safe in letting go of her bravado long enough to slump heavily against Rigo's chair and mutter under her breath.

"Uh-oh."

The stars spun slowly, mesmerizing the eye.

"How long have we been here?"

"Do you feel rested?"

"From what?"

"Never mind."

"You're doing that cryptic thing again."

"I am, aren't I?"

Mitsu sat up and draped his arms over bent knees. He refrained from looking at his companion, not really in the mood to be dissuaded from his purpose yet again. There was something about the man's inscrutably calm expression that had somehow prevented Mitsu from asking too many questions, but the conman was feeling restless now and he wanted answers.

"I'd like to know how you know me. Why you're so familiar to me yet I'm almost positive we've never met before this. Why you're so curious about my past. Is this some sort of upper tier mind fuck?"

Shinobu was silent, reproachful.

"Where exactly are we? Where's my ship? My crew? And something happened to me. I know it. It's important, but my head's all fuzzy."

Shinobu shifted uneasily.

"You know something and you're not telling me and I wanna know why. You say you're my friend, but how can I be sure? I want answers, dammit, and I want them now!"

"You're going to undo all the work I've done." Shinobu finally spoke up, albeit softly.

"What work? What're you talking about?" Mitsu stood and towered over the other man who remained seated and composed.

"Be calm."

"I will not "be calm"! Why aren't you telling me anything? Huh? What's your game?" Shinobu kept his hands in his lap, lacing them together. He stared at the half moons of his fingernails, not looking up. "I'm not playing any games."

"You know, that's funny. That's what people say right before they fuck me over." Mitsu reached and grabbed the man by the shirtfront, pulling him up roughly. Shinobu did not resist. The conman shook him once. "You are really starting to piss me off!"

In the med bay of the _Moirai_, Gunner huffed into the room just in time to see Mitsu's vitals shoot out of control.

"This is not very healthy." Shinobu muttered under his breath, and the way he said it gave Mitsu pause. It sounded more as if the man was berating himself than his assailant.

Then Mitsu met his eyes and was lost. There was a serenity in those half-lidded grey depths, along with a creeping sorrow and an unenviable pain. And they felt old, older than the galaxy, as if hundreds of stars had shone brightly in them once but then had exploded into supernovas of regret. Mitsu could not fight the pull of those eyes, could not deny the inexorable fathoms. He let go abruptly, almost making Shinobu stumble.

"What do you want from me?" The conman growled, scowling.

"How about another story?" Shinobu suggested mildly, hands up in reconciliation.

"Another ---? You're a piece of work, you know that?" Mitsu shook his head in disbelief but grudgingly pulled forth three memories from his mind. They erupted in the air suddenly, a testament to the conman's still simmering ire.

"What's going on, Hiro?" Gunner watched the vitals screen with growing apprehension. It was spiking in erratic vees while the medic punched at buttons urgently.

"I dunno. He was calm and his brain signatures were stable. It just started up when you came in. Ah, there we go!" Kazuhiro sighed in relief as the spikes plateaued. He didn't bother to tell Gunner that the readings had normalized without his help.

"That's not what you called me in for?"

"No. I wanted to show you this." With a flourish, Kazuhiro brought to life another screen, a picture of Mitsu's brain projecting eerily in 3-D.

Gunner peered at the holo, unsure of just what he was supposed to be looking at. He was no expert in brains. Ships he understood, but he left people and their innards to those who knew best. Still, there had to be something major enough that warranted response even from a layman like he. He studied the picture again. Then his eyes widened. He glanced at Kazuhiro who nodded solemnly.

Gunner ground his teeth, furious. Then he slapped at the com on the wall and barked:

"Brek! Send that woman in here. Now!"

"So these are the three Rs and the remainder of my crew."

"You sound weary."

"I am. You would be, too, if you had to keep making these up." Mitsu glanced at him suspiciously. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Be weary? Of course." Shinobu soothed. It was a fib but he didn't think a show of superiority would help him much in this instance. He had just defused what could have been a disastrous situation and he didn't want to regress. "So, why "the three Rs"?"

"Their names: Rigo, Raffe and Rhys. We never noticed it until Suka pointed it out one day. Made them sound like triplets or something. But they all couldn't be more unalike."

"I see that." Shinobu studied the men. "You mean in temperament, then?"

"Yeah. Take Rigo, for instance." Mitsu sent the other two spinning into the background while keeping the first in place at the fore. A whimsical thought passed his mind as he did so.

_So this is what it feels like to play God._

And so, like all the other deities before him, Mitsu appraised his creation.

Rigo was whippet-thin with a shock of white hair buzzed close to the nape but overlong in front. The bangs that covered his ice-blue eyes and brushed at his sharp cheekbones gave the man a rakish air, as did his outfit. Rigo was dressed in skin-tight black leather, a one-piece bodysuit that zipped from the waist all the way up to his neck. There, it was fastened by a large buckled ring, cinched tight. Underneath the suit was a black, long-sleeved plasticine shirt, fastened to his left arm by a series of buckles but torn at the shoulder on his right. He had on black gloves as well, the forefingers and thumbs of which were oddly cut off. Shinobu noticed these immediately.

"The gloves?" he queried curiously.

"Rigo's ambidextrous." Mitsu answered shortly.

At Shinobu's raised eyebrow, the conman sighed but elaborated: "Rigo's my navigator first but he's also our best point man when it comes to on-land combat. What Suka can do in the gunner pod on board the _Moirai_, Rigo can do with his blaster. And since he needs his trigger fingers unimpeded, he cut off his gloves for more freedom of movement. And don't bother asking me why he wears them at all. Men don't ask questions like that."

Shinobu's eyebrow remained arched, waiting.

"Oh, hell! Fine! I really don't know why he wears them, okay? But, personally, I think he thinks it makes him more appealing to the ladies. There! Satisfied?" Mitsu glared at his companion.

Shinobu shrugged innocently. Then, before the blonde could take offense at his lackadaisical air, he waved at the facsimile. "And his story…?"

"Rigo came on board after my first year as captain. We picked him up in New Cairo after I'd shot down the transport ship he was on. He was the only survivor."

"Why did you attack his ship?"

"Oh, he didn't own it. He was on it. And I attacked it coz I don't like skin traders."

"He was a slave?" Shinobu was startled out of his normally placid façade.

"Yeah, captured and sold by a New Cairo sultan for making eyes at one of the old coot's wives. Rigo's something of a ladies' man." Mitsu glanced at his companion almost apologetically.

"Pheromone enhanced?"

"Nah. It's all natural Salazar charm." The conman grinned. "And he gets into a lot of hot water because of it. Women just throw themselves at him, sometimes in front of their husbands, and we're constantly bailing him out. It's a small price to pay for his skills, though."

"Skills?"

"Well, aside from being a crack shot with his blaster and our navigations expert, Rigo speaks at least ten different Gaian languages, the galactica lingua and a bit of Dregan, I think. It makes for easy transactions everywhere we go."

"A true Renaissance man, then," Shinobu's lips quivered with suppressed mirth as he noted the slight envy in Mitsu's voice.

"And nothing like Raffe."

The second man to be singled out was so nondescript that Shinobu looked at his companion furtively, worrying that he was over-extending himself. But Mitsu seemed none the worse for wear and the facsimile held firm and steady. The Empath decided that this was Raffe's true appearance after all.

Aside from spiky black hair and a matching eye patch over the left eye, both of which stood out starkly against an unnaturally pale face, there was nothing to distinguish the man from the ethnically diverse masses found in any town on any colony. Even the bandolier of wicked-looking knives slung across his chest seemed to blend in with his inconspicuous clothing.

"Let me guess. Covert operations and various forms of skullduggery?"

"Who talks like you?"

"Am I correct?"

"Yeah, you're right. Raffe is kinda forgettable, isn't he?" Mitsu frowned at the simulacrum. "He joined us not long after Rigo did. We were doin' a run in the Omega Belt and were unlucky enough to get caught in the little civil war brewing on Argos. Raffe's da was leader of the opposing party. They lost, he died, and Raffe put in with our crew."

"The eye?"

"Lost it in the last battle. It…wasn't pretty." Mitsu set his jaw grimly. "And it changed him. When we first met Raff, he was the rowdiest of the bunch, always ready with a song or a tune from his harmonica. And he could drink like a fish; loved his alc, he did. He's not like that anymore. Not since…" Mitsu trailed off pensively.

"You worry about him." It was a statement.

"Yeah. I do. I'm scared he'll do something completely irreversible one of these days, like stand in the line of fire and die a glorious but stupid death. He thinks he was cheated, you know. He lost his whole family in that war and he would've died too if I hadn't hauled his sorry carcass aboard the _Moirai_. He was suicidal for a long time after that."

Mitsu stopped abruptly, caught up in the memories of painful pasts. Shinobu wasn't sure whether they were still talking about Raffe, but he chose not to pry. In point of fact, throughout their entire episode in the dreamscape, the Empath had not once peeked into Mitsu's psyche, allowing the conman the privacy and time to share at his own pace. Shinobu was pretty sure Mitsu did not realize he had revealed a lot about himself already by simply talking about his crew. So the Empath bided his time and looked away politely while the other collected himself.

"Raff's better now, but he sometimes gets into one of his moods. And then, only Rigo can snap him out of it."

"Can you trust him?"

"With my life. But with his? No, I don't think so."

"What the hell is that?" Gunner roughly shoved the Guardian's nose into the holo.

"A brain?" Morgan guessed saucily.

The pilot snarled and cocked his fist, prepared to pound her into a pulp. Despite her training, or because of it, the Guardian backed up warily, only to be met by a solid wall of simian muscle. Damn. She'd forgotten about Brek.

"Try again, lady." Gunner moved closer dangerously, still tensed for attack.

"Okay, okay! It's Mitsuru Ikeda's brain and it's clean."

"Clean?" Brek rumbled from behind her.

"She means the captain's not 'troded. They extracted him." Kazuhiro announced grimly. A boiling wrath threatened to crack his professional composure.

Morgan felt the simian stiffen before his large hands clamped down on her biceps. She noted the medic, the pilot and the girl, calculated the strength of the engineer, remembered the other three on board. Force was not going to get her out of this one. Then she contemplated lying. But Ikeda wasn't dead and he'd be awake and coherent soon enough. So would the Empath. And they would definitely refute any story she'd concocted. Morgan's shoulders sagged. She was a goner.

"And this is Rhys."

The man was more of a youth, really. Or perhaps it was the guilelessness evident in his clear blue eyes that perpetuated this perception. It didn't help that his weapon of choice was a claymore which, no matter how expertly wielded, was still an idealistic conceit for the 23rd century. The manling completed his romantic affectations by wearing an old-fashioned brown leather jerkin over a soft blue tunic, both belted at the waist by more leather from which the sword's scabbard hung. A long blue strip of cloth banded across his high forehead, keeping fine blonde hair from obscuring his vision. The strip fluttered jauntily behind him like a koi's lazy tailfin.

For all his boyish pretensions, however, Rhys was fit and trim and shared the rest of the crew's air of competence and efficiency. Shinobu did not find him lacking, despite his youth. But he still had to comment on it.

"He doesn't seem to fit in with the others." The Empath observed.

"What do you mean?"

"His eyes aren't sad."

Again, Mitsu was startled by the man's intuitiveness.

"Rhys has nothing to be sad about," the conman answered. "He's young, healthy and has the most unblemished past out of all of us. He even has a normal, loving family, complete with a whole clan of aunts and uncles, back on Sirena."

"So…"

"So why's he with us?" Mitsu let out a humorless laugh. "Because he's young, healthy and has an unblemished past. The boy wanted adventure and his little pleasure colony just wasn't cutting it. I mean, how dangerous can a tourist satellite get? The crew and I were taking a break on Sirena last year, and when we left, we found ourselves plus one man. Gunner wanted me to eject the guy for stowing away on board the _Moirai_ but Rhys begged for a chance to prove himself."

"And did he?"

"He's still with me, isn't he?"

Mitsu finally succumbed to his simmering resentment. He was done with memories, done with being an open book. Recalling the past and reliving some not so pleasant experiences may have been cathartic and it had given him a new perspective on his crew. But it finally dawned on the conman that never in his life had he willingly volunteered information to a virtual stranger. And, no matter how therapeutic unburdening his soul to him had been, Shinobu was still most definitely a stranger.

"Now it's your turn." Mitsu challenged, being careful not to look into the other man's eyes for fear of surrendering to them again.

"I don't think now is the right time."

"Oh, I think differently. Fair's fair, ne? You tell me something."

"But didn't you have one last crew member to talk about?"

"Don't change the subject."

"But the girl…"

"Leave Trout out of this!" Mitsu lashed out with a venom that shocked both of them.

"Mitsuru."

"That's not my name. Don't call me that!"

"I think we'd better go now."

"Oh, no you don't! We're not leaving until I get some answers!" Mitsu lunged for the man but his reaching hands met thin air. Shinobu was fading away before his eyes.

"Hey! Dammit, come back! What the hell is going on?" The conman whirled around and a spike of apprehension shot through him. The hill they'd been standing on was disappearing as well, as were the stars and the dimly-glowing grasses.

"Shinobu!" Mitsu cried out in panic.

"I hate to do this, especially after you trusted me, but there's no other way." The disembodied voice echoed in his ears.

"What? What're you talking about?"

"I've done all I can. We have to go back."

Then the world went black. Utterly, endlessly black. The night sky had never appeared darker until the moment the grasses blinked out of existence. And the air was suddenly thick and cloying, closing in. Mitsu felt like he'd just been dropped into an inkwell and was slowly drowning in a vast sea of murk and shadow. The absence of light and the feeling of suffocation turned his equilibrium askew and the conman found himself experiencing the most nauseating combination of claustrophobia and vertigo.

"Shi---in…" Mitsu gasped an unspoken plea for help.

There was no response.

Morgan opened her mouth to confess. She was just going to blurt it out, no hemming or hawing. She was once a commander of a cadre and she'd eat her boots first before acting like a cowed civilian. So, yes. Confess. Confess to these men that she had been instrumental in their captain's 'trode extraction. Confess that she had effectively disabled the man for life, cut him off completely from instantaneous contact with ship and crew. Confess that she had ordered the operation only because of her personal prejudice and spite.

Yeah, right.

If Morgan were honest with herself, she knew she was a bit intimidated by these men. There was something about the steely glint in Gunner's eye and the way Kazuhiro was fondling a shiny scalpel that drew a shiver from the battle-hardened Guardian. She'd never witnessed such fierce devotion to one person; these men were ready to defend their captain's honor without question. That Ikeda could command such unswerving fealty from his crew, even while unconscious, was staggering.

Morgan was beginning to feel like maybe there was something else de Medici hadn't told her about Ikeda, that perhaps there was more to him than his already-substantial files had indicated. Yes, Ikeda was an unrepentant runner and probably deserved several months in a brig for his illegal activities. But Morgan had seen his men in action, had seen them shoot to disable, not kill. And the Moirai was a well-run outfit, sharp and tidy as any Guardian command vessel. This was not your ordinary smuggling operation.

Morgan's stomach twinged as the thoughts raced through her head. It was a strange feeling; she'd never been sick a day in her life. She wondered if she'd managed to contract some sort of incurable virus from one of the men. Gods knew when they'd all received their vaccinations. If Morgan had had any friends, and had she confided in them, they would have been quick to tell her that her malaise was not a physical ailment at all. It was something called a conscience and it was finally waking up.

"Spit it out, le Freya!" Gunner was losing patience in exponential increments.

Morgan slitted her green eyes. The pilot was not making this any easier with his arrogant demands. But the Guardian swallowed her pride and tried to project a feeling of complete penitence as she inhaled once then began to speak.

"Gunner!" Kazuhiro's stricken voice cut through the thick tension in the room, as did the alarming beeps that emanated from Mitsu's vitals screen.

The captain was convulsing on the pallet, his body jerking spasmodically. The medic was trying in vain to hold him down, a syringe of something nasty-looking at the ready. Gunner joined Kazuhiro and pushed the slighter man aside, grabbing Mitsu's arms and pinning him down forcefully. Brek materialized at the foot of the pallet and held the conman's ankles. Trapped between the two men, Mitsu's body continued to twitch frighteningly, his back arching in response to some undisclosed trauma.

"Hiro, goddammit! Do something!" Gunner yelled.

"I'm trying! Hold him steady. This is potent stuff!" Kazuhiro waved the syringe warningly even as Mitsu thrashed about and nearly knocked it out of his hand.

"Can I help?" Morgan approached the pallet timidly.

"NO!" All three men blasted her with a deafening chorus that left her ears ringing.

Morgan was at a loss. She didn't know if Ikeda's reaction was caused by any side effects from the extraction or not. Selfishly, she hoped not. It would just make it that much worse for her. The Guardian sidled away to a less conspicuous spot and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt yet another hand bear down on her shoulder. She really wished people would stop manhandling her.

"Don't worry. He'll be alright." A new voice whispered in her ear.

"Tezuka?!"

Her only response was the swish of robes as Shinobu swept past her and headed bravely toward Mitsu and his struggling crew members. With an enviable air of command that brooked no defiance, the Empath swatted away the three men and stopped Mitsu in mid spasm with a gentle hand on the conman's forehead. As the rest of them watched uncomprehendingly, the vitals screen ceased its raucous beeping and Mitsu's eyes fluttered open. The Empath smiled at him benevolently, his grey eyes sparkling with merriment.

"Welcome back."

Mitsu let out a long sigh, then blinked.

"Who are you?"


	7. The Conspiracy

**Chapter 7: The Conspiracy**

_skreeee…_

Fifty years after mankind's discovery of hypergrav, the ozone gave its last gasp and surrendered to the ultraviolet rays that had plagued it since the 20th century. As predicted by scientists then, and as ignored by naysayers after them, the polar ice caps surged to life, creaking and groaning and eventually melting under the harsh power of an unforgiving sun. Major cities all across the globe succumbed to the water's icy grasp, and a mass exodus from terra firma ensued.

_bzzzt…_

Funded by governments and private companies, a multitude of ships tore away from Gaia and launched hopeful colonists to pursue manifest destiny in space. Distance travel into the farthest reaches of the galaxy, though feasible, proved costly and inefficient. Hundreds of thousands of colonists died on board their ships even before they reached their destinations. It is said that the outer reaches of the Milky Way are littered with ghost ships, empty husks of these first experiments into space.

_squawkkk…_

After the first wave and the disaster this proved to be, man became less ambitious and decided to keep close to home. Satellite colonies suddenly littered Gaia's orbit, but even this seemingly endless arena proved insufficient as more and more people petitioned to leave landside, their homes swallowed up by the encroaching water from the ice caps. Unbeknownst to these later colonists, corrupt entrepreneurs and governments desperate for funding took advantage of the demand and sold more petitions than there was space.

_transmission override…_

A jihad between the Primes (original colonists) and the Croachers (succeeding colonists) erupted. This second wave successfully wiped out another third of the world's population as the Primes ruthlessly shot down all ships that held anything but provisions from landside. Many innocent people perished and mankind has still to recover from this monstrosity. To this day, enmity is alive and well between Gaians and colonists, although an uneasy truce has stood in effect for the past twenty years.

_error…error…error…_

Charybdis sighed heavily and disengaged his 'trodes from the port. The problem with using his own terminal to jack into the Hub was that the hack job piece of crap constantly malfunctioned on him. Still, better to get kicked off than caught by Hub Guardians. It was technically not an unauthorized download, the data being a freeware file, but once H.B. locked down on a user, they stored the imprint in their banks and were able to track said user anytime he surfed the Hub. Charybdis enjoyed his anonymity and tried to avoid attention whenever possible.

"Shah. Your visitor is here."

"Ah, very well. Send him in, Delau." The catman gave his terminal one last glare before terminating transmission and swiveling around to face the door.

He didn't have long to wait. His major domo ushered in a deep-cowled figure who swept into the room impatiently, patently ignoring the servant who hovered just behind him.

"You're early," Charybdis noted.

His visitor grunted a reply.

"No matter. Please, make yourself at ease." The catman waved at the settee in front of him with an ironic twist to his lips. Another signal dismissed the servant who exited with relief. Young Delau was still uncomfortable around strangers, particularly unenhanced ones. Charybdis made a note to discuss this with the cub at a later date.

His visitor sat down with an abrupt thump and settled his cloak more firmly around him. Again, Charybdis bared his fangs in amusement. "Really, my friend, why all the subterfuge? You know you're quite safe here. Take off that ridiculous disguise."

"I'm perfectly fine the way I am," the visitor rasped primly and clutched at his cloak even more tightly. Then, before the catman could continue his gentle needling, the man pointed an accusing finger.

"You didn't kill him."

"I blooded the target," Charybdis answered, his mien taking on a somber cast.

"He's still not dead."

"So you say."

"Witnesses verify that R'Ikeda was shot but still breathing when they left the port," the visitor insisted, his cowl quivering with vehemence.

Charybdis leaned back in his chair and steepled his paws, regarding the other through ominous yellow slits. "Perhaps he expired on board."

"Or perhaps you missed anything vital on purpose. Tell me, Charybdis, is it true he is your gokenin?"

"That is of no concern to you."

"Oh, but it is. Anything that could jeopardize this venture of ours is my concern. R'Ikeda was a wild card, a loose cannon. He needed to be eliminated in order to ensure our success."

"I didn't see you making any attempt to get rid of him when you had him."

"De Medici was scrutinizing every move I made! What would you have me do?"

Charybdis brushed the excuse aside. "Water under the bridge. What matters now is how we proceed from here. By the way, since we're casting aspersions, why was the Empath with Mitsu? You weren't planning on double-crossing me, were you?"

His visitor projected his impatience clearly even from the depths of his cowl. The catman's shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. "Ah, take a joke some time, my friend. It's not fattening."

"This is no laughing matter," the man reproved.

"I agree. But humor puts things in perspective, eh?" Charybdis enjoyed poking at his overly serious colleague. But perhaps he should go easy on the man. He had the worse end of the bargain, after all, what with his playing the game on both sides. The catman decided to get down to business; his visitor was twitching nervously again.

"Rest easy. R'Ikeda may have gotten away and we may have tipped our hand by attacking so precipitously, but he still has no idea as to his role in all this. For all he knows, it could've been a random sting."

"They extracted him, Charybdis."

"WHAT?" The catman roared in anger, bringing to the door several sentries and Delau. Their shah recovered quickly enough, however, and waved them away, but he refocused his attention on his guest with ill-concealed wrath. "Did you order this?"

"No, no!" Holding out his hands in denial, it was the other man's turn to be placating. "De Medici's then commander of the Guardians did it all on her own volition."

"The one who is now also aboard the _Moirai_." Charybdis noted with some satisfaction. "She won't be alive for long when the crew finds out."

"Are you sure you are not gokenin with R'Ikeda? You seem to be overly concerned about his welfare considering you tried to kill him." The visitor's voice was sly.

"I was following the orders of the Assembly. I didn't agree when we passed sentence then and I don't agree with it now. Just because de Medici was looking for him didn't mean he was a danger to our plans."

"Is that why you were so unforthcoming with R'Ikeda's whereabouts?"

"Had to make de Medici work for it, didn't I? What fun would any hunt be without a challenge?" Charybdis expertly evaded the main issue.

It had never sat well with him, this decision to eliminate Mitsu. Whatever de Medici had cooked up for the conman in his putrid little brain was of no concern to the catman. He knew Mitsu would never work for the First tier Advocate and he had fought vociferously for his friend's dispensation, defending his honor. But for some reason, the belligerent bunch that comprised the Assembly had not sympathized at all with one of their kind, although most knew Mitsu at least in passing; they had all voted for the conman's extermination. Charybdis suspected that there had been more to that entire situation than was apparent. And he knew it had something to do with Loki Swift, who had presided over the meeting with an oblique gleam in his eyes.

His guest brought him back to the present. "With the Empath, the Guardian and R'Ikeda all together, it will only be a matter of time before they put the pieces together."

"What makes you say that?" Again, the catman's eyes narrowed. "Is there something you forgot to tell me?"

"Le Freya – the Guardian – was privy to a conversation that was not meant for her ears. And the Empath has more tricks under his fingernails than we do combined. Add to that R'Ikeda's extraction, which smacks of upper tier involvement and which will no doubt have aroused suspicion in him already, and we've got a situation on our hands."

"Ahhh," the catman let out a sigh of contemplation. "I see your point. We have to move swiftly then. When we had only de Medici to contend with, we could afford to take our time. This new turn of events does not give us that luxury anymore. The Assembly will need to be informed of this, you know."

"I know." Underneath his cowl, the guest began to sweat. "Not only that, but the Enclave will want answers regarding the Empath's spike."

"Such terminology coming out of your mouth, my friend," Charybdis commented, his natural good humor reasserting itself despite the seriousness of the matter at hand.

"I got a crash course in Empath earlier," his guest replied shortly.

"Ah, Nuada. This is a dangerous game you're playing. I don't envy you, having to juggle the Enclave, de Medici and the Assembly all at once. Are you sure you know which side you're really supporting?"

"The side that's right, Charybdis, the side that's right." The Second tier Advocate drew a weary hand across his brow.

"Well, I can help ease matters a bit. On the off chance that I couldn't complete my directive," the catman smiled wryly, half in acknowledgement of his error and half in triumph because of it, "I took the precaution of planting a beacon on the _Moirai_ when the child wasn't looking. My sabrewings are tracking the ship as we speak."

"Any news?" Nuada was hopeful.

"None at the moment. They made a series of random hops and we're currently following the ghost trails they left when they blinked in and out of various space pockets. Rigo's doing an admirable job masking their progress." Charybdis sounded duly impressed.

"Are you sure it shouldn't be me asking you where your loyalties lie?" Nuada's comment was rife with implications.

Charybdis growled a warning and the Advocate chortled. "Don't you hate it when the tables are turned, my friend?"

"Indeed." The catman gave him a grudging smile. "But, back to the matter at hand: when the _Moirai_ finally anchors, we'll be right behind them. Then we'll have to see what Mitsu and the rest have managed to puzzle out on their own. If they know too much, they will be taken care of."

"The same way you took care of Ikeda in the City port?"

"Don't push your luck, Nuada D'Argent. You're still in my demesnes, and outside of the Assembly, I am entitled to my own opinions. Let me handle Mitsu and you worry about de Medici. Between the both of us, we may yet salvage this situation and accomplish our goals as well."

"I hope so." Nuada rustled underneath his heavy cloak. "I have to go. I've spent a bit longer here than I'd planned and there's still the Enclave meeting tonight to worry about. I assume I can count on you to relay our conversation to the others?"

"Yes. With you and Loki in absentia, I shall be presiding over the group. It's perfect timing too. The Enclave meeting effectively keeps occupied any important people who may have wanted to poke around the City tonight."

"Then I leave everything in your hands. May the gods go with us, Charybdis." Nuada stood to leave.

The catman bared his fangs. "It has nothing to do with the gods, my friend. My money's on lady Fortune this night."

The Enclave was in mute uproar. Taking into account the 150 Guild representatives from Second tier, the fifty Sector representatives from Third tier and the fifteen First Family representatives from First tier, plus each one's entourage, Nuada was not surprised at the volume level as he entered the hall. As he made his way through the crowd milling about, the Advocate noted that the conversations seemed to swirl around two things: the potential trade embargo on the colonies and the Empath spike of that morning.

"…and Sabat almost didn't come tonight because he professed that his ears bled at the feedback!"

"Sabat's an old goat and he probably just bled because he'd been taking too many aggromeds!"

"I hear another uprising broke out on Argos."

"Damn those backwater colonies and their stupid wars! It's what got us into this mess in the first place. Can't get decent droids anymore because of their petty inheritance claims!"

"But surely the threat of embargo would quell any further altercations?"

"You would think. Oi! Have you heard about Sabat?"

"Ohhhh, my head!"

"Milady, I told you not to overexert yourself. That spike was intolerable, even for me. Here, have a deadener."

"Excuse me. Pardon me! Oh, I'm sorry, Llarona. I didn't see you there!" Nuada backed away hastily from the diminutive Microbiology Guildmaster and headed for the front of the hall where the Advocates' dais was located. As he craned his neck over the sea of heads, the man spotted both Swift and de Medici already in place. He hurried faster.

The hall where Enclave meetings were officially held was located on First tier and chutes were allowed extra activation hours to accommodate the high traffic that preceded each gathering. Several representatives had argued once that the conferences could be more efficacious and consume less time if each member was restricted to only two people in their entourage, but this caused petty squabblings among certain folk and that amendment was quickly tabled. Of course, this action determined that meetings would last at least five hours, two of which were spent awaiting members' arrivals. It was a tedious process but, Nuada noted, well worth the effort if it allowed every voice to be heard.

Granted, a majority of those voices were inane at best and ignorant at worst, but democracy had become a fundamental part of Gaia since the Collapse and one that had to be protected at all costs.

Nuada checked his chrono as he wended his way to the dais. Five minutes to the hour. The other two Advocates were early. In de Medici, this punctuality was a given but Loki Swift was a different matter altogether. Nuada narrowed his eyes. Damn Loki! Now, more than ever, he needed to keep a low profile and not do anything that might arouse questions – or, worse, suspicions – from the masses. The Second tier Advocate was already noticing the furtive glances his Third tier counterpart was receiving from certain factions in the room. Damn Loki!

Loki Swift beamed cheekily at the crowd, his lurid crimson shirt a direct contrast to the others' muted clothing and clashing painfully with his bright, flame-colored hair. A pointed chin and long, narrow nose, along with slightly upturned ears gave the man a decidedly elfish demeanor. Long, pale fingers danced ceaselessly over a string of jadeite worry beads, producing a most jarring clacking even in the already noisome hall. Sylphlike legs encased in crushed purple velvet were extended almost beyond the dais's step and were crossed languorously at the ankles. The Third tier Advocate had the air of an effeminate sybarite, one he proudly affected with every twitch of his wrist and every tinkling, well-rehearsed laugh. Only a rare few knew of the crafty mind behind those pleasure-hazed eyes.

"You're late." De Medici murmured under his breath at Nuada's approach.

"I'm on time," the man retorted, barely glancing at the third Advocate who spared him a benign glance before returning his gaze to the burbling crowd.

"Ah, indeed. I suppose our esteemed colleague's unusually prompt appearance confused me a bit," de Medici responded easily enough.

Nuada was not fooled. Damn Loki!

"Gentlemen, I believe it's my turn to call this meeting to order. Oh, I do so love the authority; it sends chills up and down my slender spine," Loki trilled fatuously and he unfolded himself from his chair to do just as he'd announced. He deposited his worry beads into the velvet aumoniere at his belt.

Nuada turned his head in time to catch de Medici's muttered "annoying little flit" before he was distracted by Loki Swift in action. It was a spectacle that warranted one's full attention.

"Messieurs and mesdames! Votre attention, per favore! We will commence tout de suite and I beg your silenzio pour maintenant!" Using the European patois that always managed to make Nuada cringe but which afforded de Medici no small amusement, the Third tier Advocate raised both arms grandiosely. His undersleeves of emerald green flashed like parrot plumage through the slashes of his billowing red shirt.

"We call this meeting to order à la heure de otto and we surrender the floor to our fellow confrere, Giancarlo de Medici!"

As Swift bowed graciously and stepped away, he took a moment to survey the hall. It never failed to appeal to the Corinthian in him. He took sensual delight in the albescent marble pillars that ranked the perimeter, the faux chandeliers that cast tantalizing chiaroscuros over the throng, the sumptuous crimson – _ah, crimson! My favorite color!_ – carpet that did little to dampen the usual roar of the crowd but was beautiful nonetheless.

In between the pillars were the sateen-lined galleries that accommodated the several hundred members of the assemblage. Designed after the Coliseum of yore, the highest strata were reserved for lower-ranking hangers-on while the lower levels catered to the intelligentsia and glitterati. Like refined butterflies alighting on vivid flowers, the Enclave members provided a perfect foil to the elegance of their surroundings.

But, as the crowd dispersed from the common floor and moved to occupy their assigned places, Swift set aside his carnal musings and chased the bitter thought of the City dwellers he represented and how an entire family of Dregan drudges could feast for a year with but one shard of the chandeliers' precious crystals.

He would do well to remember that his position as Advocate was tenuous at best and that the City fathers only suffered his authority because of his vast network of supporters in the Thieves' Guild. They would never be convinced of Swift's altruism, never believe that the man fiercely supported the people he spoke for. Why would they? They were as greedy and self-serving as their First tier counterparts.

Still, it wasn't as if Swift had just cause to rail at the fathers. After all, it had been his decision to play the fop, the sybaritic king of thieves, in order to mask his true intentions. The Advocate spared a glance at D'Argent.

_Soon. Soon I'll be able to abandon this ridiculous masquerade. And then the real fun begins!_

"…and concerning our first order of business, I call on Master Guiles." De Medici had wasted no time in hurrying the meeting along and Swift ordered himself to pay closer attention as the normally jocund Trades Guildmaster stood to speak, a scowl already gracing his face.

"I am a simple man. I don't cotton to long speeches and I'm not here to try to sway anyone to my side. The facts will speak for me. As of today, my tallies indicate a severe drop in imported goods from all colonies in the Omega Belt. What does manage to come through is priced at exorbitant rates, marked up by their scarcity and an overwhelming demand. The colonies are taking advantage of their position and status and I think it's high time we send them a message. If they do not lower their export tariffs and open up trade to manageable means, I say we pronounce embargo on them!"

This speech was met by faint cheers from several factions but by low grumblings from the majority of the assembly. Heads turned to whisper to neighbors and the Guildmaster felt himself losing momentum. He still had the floor, however. None of the Advocates had made a move to stop him. So he continued, hands raised for silence.

"Even in this day and age, many of the colonies are not self-sufficient. They are dependent on us for a lot of their agricultural needs, such as fruits and vegetables, that cannot be grown on space satellites. Another important need is water. If we stop the export of these goods, they will be forced to bend under our will."

Again the mutterings. Behind De Medici's back – the Advocate had remained standing – Swift cupped a hand to his cheek and murmured indolently to Nuada: "He's not very subtle, is he?"

The other man snorted. "If he continues with this tirade, he won't find a lot of supporters from any of the others."

Nuada spoke the truth. From the galleries, people had begun catcalling and speaking out of turn, their outrage loud and carrying. De Medici, as acting chair, was not doing a thing to calm them. Rather, he observed the masses serenely, an inscrutable expression on his chiseled face.

"That's outrageous! No one can survive without water!"

"Guiles, you old penny-pincher! Stand down!"

"Let someone else speak!"

"My kinsmen live on Argos. Do you plan on cutting them out too?"

"You're suggesting the deliberate annihilation of hundreds of people! How dare you!"

"Murderer!"

"Thief!"

Swift brusquely stood up and flanked de Medici. He pulled his worry beads from his pouch and clacked them sharply. The noise reverberated through the hall like a thunderclap. Even de Medici started at the sudden report. Nuada shook his head but remained seated. Only Loki could have infused so much drama in a handful of jadeite. It was effective though. The hall immediately quieted down.

"Now, now, mes amies! I take offense at the term "thief" used in that tone of voice. I assure you that I and my Guild would never entertain such a thought as denying anyone the prime necessities of life. And I'm sure our conoscente, Monsieur Guiles, did not mean it that way either. Am I corretto?" Swift raised an eyebrow in the Guildmaster's general direction, then fell back down gracefully in his chair as if the matter had already bored him.

The Advocate had given the man a way out and an opportunity to save face. Unfortunately, Guiles was right; he was a simple man. And he had a simple mind. What craftiness he showed at the bargaining table was lost in the mire of diplomacy and politics. The man grew red-faced, infuriated that Swift had dared put words in his mouth.

"I do mean exactly that. Let the colonists see what we're made of! Let them feel our misery! Can any of you really survive without seishou crystals? What will you use to run your hovers? Your homes? You, Master Flay! How will you manage the holding blocks if you can't even power up the plasticrene cells? And you, Mistress Hyser! How much business will you lose if the chutes can't remain activated?

"And it's not just the seishou crystals from Danae. What about the droids from Argos or the silks from New Cairo? Miladies of the First Families, I beg you! See reason! If this travesty continues – if we allow ourselves to be led around like hornos by these greedy colonists – our lives as we know it will be ruined! No more easy life for any of us. We'll be relegated to drudge status before you know it!"

It was melodramatic, and highly offensive to Third tier since the majority of its citizens were considered drudges. But Guiles had unwittingly struck a collective nerve and the fire and passion in his voice penetrated even the most skeptical of listeners. The seed was planted, the idea taking root and germinating. And there was no love lost between Gaians and the colonists to begin with. What Guiles said was beginning to sound more and more plausible. The pendulum swung the other way.

"No droids? But what will we do? I simply can't cope without my droids! And I need a new servobot too!"

"What did he say about seishous?"

"The colonists be fragged! I need my crystals!"

"But my family on Argos?"

"Shut up, you! Sacrifices have to be made by us all!"

"Will an embargo make them see reason?"

"It might take a while. You know how stupid those colonists are."

"Embargo!"

"Yes, embargo!"

The chanting began in the far corners of the hall and crested alarmingly in mere seconds. Nuada and Swift exchanged worried looks. De Medici had not made a sound. People were pouring from the stands to accost the Trades Guildmaster and his entourage, shouting out questions or encouragement. Guiles's face, previously dark, had returned to its jocular cast as he realized he was getting his own way after all.

As the meeting devolved into a morass of outraged furor and righteous indignation, Nuada despaired of ever making the other, more important Assembly conclave. He also wondered worriedly why de Medici hadn't said a word to dispel the venom that was slowly insinuating itself amongst the representatives. Was this what the man had planned all along? Was this why he had given the floor to Guiles first? What did this have anything to do with the mission? The layers of deceit clung to Nuada with icy filaments.

Loki Swift's claret-washed eyes bore into de Medici's back. The man was up to something. But it was no use wasting energy on conjecture and speculation. Swift was no Empath, and even had he been, he had no wish to paddle around in the man's twisted mind. The thought made him shudder elegantly. Then he turned and, with a hand to his cheek once more, murmured to Nuada: "Well, at least they're not talking about the spike."

Nuada sighed. It was small comfort.

Compared to the luxury and elegance of the Enclave hall, the Assembly room was a shoddy, makeshift affair, as were its members. Convening in Cain's shadowy basement workshop, the clandestine band of misfits and rogues were currently enjoying the ample supply of alc that Sartre had sent over. Draped over various pieces of machinery and haphazardly placed equipment, the group indulged in bawdy songs and highly tasteless jokes. Several were trying to cajole Cain out of his newly-acquired wetware enhancers while a fierce betting pool was taking place in the corner.

A seishou-powered lamp swinging precariously from the ceiling was the only illumination present. The concrete walls barely masked the roaring of the ocean just fifteen centimeters from swallowing the group. The room was crowded and dark and potentially fatal, considering its underwater location. It was just the way the Assembly liked it.

"My money's on Shiken's holo," a voice growled with amusement.

"Oi, wait your turn! I gotta cover a coupla more bets!" The stim-chomping ringleader waved a hand behind him, his sharp eyes watching the match closely for cheaters.

"My money's not good enough for you?" The new guy persisted.

"Oi, ya gobshite! Ya deaf? I said ya gotta wait…" The man turned around in irritation then felt his mouth go slack, "…your turn."

Charybdis smirked wickedly at the look of horror that crossed the bookie's face. The other men slowly melted away, mingling with the walls. A hush swept the room, except for old Tollo who was already bolloxed and hiccupping intermittently. The woozy Dregan suddenly burst into song and was promptly silenced by his neighbors who sat on him then looked up innocently at the newly-arrived catman.

"It's good to see you all in high spirits, gentlemen. And it's also good to see that this morning's little brouhaha aboveside has none of you concerned." Charybdis swished his cloak then picked off imaginary lint from it with an unsheathed claw. The menace was not lost on the group.

"Ah, Charybdis. We were just having a bit o' fun. You know how it gets when we're all together like this. Someone's sure to get hurt if we didn't provide any amusement," Cain stepped up boldly and winked at the assassin.

The rest of the men held their breath as Charybdis rumbled low in his throat. The claw came up and not a few of those gathered were ashamed to admit that they turned away at the carnage that was sure to ensue. Then the rumble grew louder and a bark of unrestrained laughter erupted from the catman. His claws retracted and the paw that landed on Cain's shoulder was soft velvet.

"Indeed, my friend. And what sort of a City dweller would I be if I didn't understand that? We're all just a bunch of rowdies here, aren't we?" The catman swiveled his head to appraise the crowd, humor still glinting in his eyes.

Cain grinned and the others took this as a good sign. They peeled themselves from the walls and cautiously took position around the room. The holos were shut down, the alc relegated to a less conspicuous spot and Charybdis decided that he'd had his laugh for the day. It was time to get down to business.

"Since the lot of you are three sheets to the wind already, let's make this brief. Loki and Nuada are aboveside at the Enclave meeting…" Here, Charybdis was interrupted by hoots and hollers of derision at the mention of the upper tier conference. He glared ferociously and the men subsided.

"And will probably not make it tonight." The catman plunged on as if he had not been disrupted.

"They're lovin' that, I'm sure!" A sarcastic voice called from the back of the room and the others chortled heartily.

Charybdis noted their jollity with impatience. He hated it when Sartre decided to play the philanthropist and donated alc to the meetings. It always made things that much more difficult. Of course, the men were not as likely to be so lax had Loki been present. That man could command an armada with a fey smile and a raised eyebrow. With Charybdis, despite or because of his intimidating appearance and reputation, it always boiled down to force.

_Force it shall be, then, _the catman thought grimly to himself. With a blinding leap, he grabbed the nearest rabble rouser by the shirt front and drew a gleaming claw against his jugular. Another fearful silence descended on the group. Charybdis made eye contact with the two dozen or so men in the room, making sure he now had their undivided attention.

"As I was saying, Nuada and Loki will not be attending tonight and I'm just here to give you information and orders. Understood?" The catman smiled pleasantly enough although he still retained his lethal hold on the burbling drunk.

The men nodded solemnly.

"Good. As you all know, R'Ikeda was able to leave Avalon with his crew, de Medici's Guardian and an Empath." Charybdis paused, daring anyone to make mention of his failure to dispose of the conman. There was not so much as a peep from the peanut gallery.

"Nuada feels that, together, these three may just piece together all the relevant information and figure out what we're all about. We need to intercept them before they make their next move. We have to know if they truly are wild cards in the game or whether they will ally themselves to a side. I'm hoping they see it our way."

"How do you suggest we find 'em, Char? The galaxy's mighty big," Cain asked curiously.

"My pride is on it. I planted a beacon on the _Moirai_ and my sabrewings are hot on their trail. I've deduced that they're probably headed toward Kuiper. R'Ikeda always runs home to lick his wounds. But we'll confirm this in a matter of a few days. Once we make contact, my men will report to me and then Nuada and Loki will decide on the best course of action."

"Blow them out of the sky!" Tollo cried from between the two large men still sitting on him.

"No. De Medici had plans for R'Ikeda and we must know what makes him so important. I told you once that the decision to exterminate him was precipitous and perhaps his escape is a message from the gods that we had been hasty in our verdict."

To his surprise, Charybdis noted that several men looked sheepish at the mention of Mitsu and the shoot-to-kill directive. Some even nodded their heads in agreement to his last statement.

_So, I was right. Killing Mitsu was not a unanimous vote. This gets more and more interesting…_

"What about the Empath and the Guardian? Can we kill them?" Someone suggested contentiously.

"Shut up, Decker!" Cain called out before Charybdis could respond. "We're don't murder without good reason. We just want what's right. If the Empath and the Guardian can be swayed, then we should try to get 'em on our side too. I heard about the spike this morning and how it raised holy hell with the Firsters. If that Empath has them running scared, then maybe he could be useful to us."

"Well said, Cain." Charybdis nodded to the man approvingly. In his grasp, the drunk had passed out in a stupor of alc and fear and had gone limp. The catman discarded him unceremoniously and gathered his cloak to him.

"I believe that will be all for now, gentlemen."

"But you said orders, Char. What do you want us to do?" Cain spoke for the men.

"Watch. Wait. Keep your ears to the ground. Send the harlots to the sex arenas and have them cull as much information from the aristos as they can muster. De Medici could not have set up his own mission by himself, even with Nuada's aid. He must have someone else helping him; they should at least be aware of his next move. And if we ferret out that information, we'll be one step ahead. Remember, we still don't know the exact location of the target. That is our primary goal. This R'Ikeda business was incidental. For all we know, he may not even figure into the equation anymore."

The men grunted assent, all traces of alc gone from their systems. This they could do. They were a band of cutthroats and rogues and covert operations were more to their liking than outright confrontation. Leave the big games to the big boys; they would do their part in the way they knew best.

As the group dispersed, some to the alc barrel and others to resume the holo match, Cain approached the departing catman.

"Is Mitsu really alive?" The young neurist whispered with ill-concealed hope.

"Yes."

"You didn't try very hard, did you?"

"What makes you say that?" Charybdis drew Cain away from the men, to the top of the steps, for more privacy. He needn't have bothered; the others had already resumed the revelry that the catman's arrival had interrupted.

"Well, it's not like ye to botch up a job, regardless of how you felt about it. I just thought, mebbe, yer heart wasn't in it. Coz of Mitsu bein' your gokenin and all."

"Why does everyone think that?" Charybdis sighed exasperatedly.

"Tis true, ain't it? Tis why ye argued so much against it."

"Not that it did any good," the catman was bitter.

"But it all worked out in the end, eh? No need to get yer britches in a bunch!" Cain pivoted on his heel and made to leave, giving the assassin a sly wink.

It took a moment for everything to click in Charybdis's head. Then he snatched at the neurist's shirt and hauled him back. Several men turned at the sound of the scuffle but the catman simply threw his arm around Cain and smiled at them blandly. Bored, they ignored the pair once more.

Cain winced at the subtle pressure Charybdis was exerting on his left deltoid. "Oi, what's the sitch, Char? You be needin' me for somethin' else?"

"Yes, Cain. Answers." The assassin snarled pleasantly in his ear. "You seem to have your share of them. And it's not nice keeping things from your friends, is it?"

"I dunno what yer blatherin' about, Char," Cain announced nonchalantly enough but the catman, well-versed in reading his prey, noted the twitch in the man's eye and the tremor that ran through his body.

"Cain, Cain, Cain," Charybdis purred dangerously. "You've been touching the blarney stone, haven't you? Tsk, tsk. Didn't your ma tell you it's not good to lie?"

The claws unsheathed silently and pressed with lethal delicacy against Cain's jugular. In the dim light, the neurist knew his precarious position would not be revealed to the others until he was drowning in his own blood. And, even then, Cain doubted anyone would seek vengeance for his death. He may be the best neurist the City had to offer, and he may have access to all the questionable wetware on the market, but the man knew he was not indispensable. He gulped.

"Whaddaya want to know?"

"Let's take this outside, shall we?" Charybdis kept his arm around Cain's shoulder and his claws at the ready even as he pulled the other out of the room and into the shadowy hallway that led to the legitimate part of Cain's outfit.

"Tell me, Cain. Tell me what you know about Mitsu and the order to kill."

"I can't tell you that!" Cain's pupils dilated in fear and it wasn't just Charybdis he was frightened of. Things were getting more and more interesting…

"Yes, you can," the catman let out another centimeter of claw and tickled the other's carotid with it.

"Ahhhh…you're gonna get me killed, Char!" Cain pleaded in vain.

"Which do you prefer? Dying later or dying now?" The claw pressed deep.

"No! No…stop! I'll tell, I'll tell!" The neurist panicked as he felt the stinging of salty blood on serrated skin. "It was Loki. He made us vote! We didn't want to, but he made us! We told him it went against the Thieves' Code but he wouldn't listen! None of us wanted Mitsu do die, man! He's one of us! And he's the best fokkin' runner there is – why would we want him knocked off?" Cain was frantic, trying not to swallow in case Charybdis's paw slipped.

Abruptly, the catman let go of his captive who rubbed at his throat and came away with red, tacky fingers. Cain ignored his injury, thankful that it was as minor as it was. It could've been worse. Then he peered apprehensively at the catman who was staring blindly into the shadows. Even in the dark, Cain was able to make out the bristling of Charybdis's fur.

_Oh, this is not good!_ The neurist told himself in alarm as he noted the signs that indicated the precursor to a catman berserker rampage.

"Loki." Charybdis whispered to himself, Cain forgotten. His hackles rose and his body tensed. Involuntarily, his claws unsheathed and his yellow eyes glowed with feral ferocity. Then he threw back his head and roared.

"LOKI!"


	8. The Attack

Chapter 8: The Attack 

"Rigo. Status report."

"Seishou levels low. We got enough to get to Kuiper if we do it the old-fashioned way and coast it. Don't think we can keep pocket hopping. Of course, I would have more to work with if gun boy up there would quit taking potshots at every stray asteroid that passes his scope!"

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to, runt!"

"Rigo, you horno shit!" A clatter, a thump and a muffled curse announced the boy's imminent descent from the gunner tower.

"Stay up there, brat, unless you want another ass whooping," Rigo warned with no real menace behind it.

"You're not the boss of me!" The redhead's boots emerged on the first visible rung.

"Stay, Suka."

"Aw, Mitsu! Ever since Avalon, you've been no fun! Must be the new haircut, ne?"

"Do it, Kazuya!"

"Yessir, captain sir!" The men below could almost see the insolent salute the boy was sure to have executed. The boots made their way back up the ladder.

Mitsu grinned wryly, then turned to his pilot and second-in-command. "Where'd you put our guests, Gunn?"

"Where you suggested, Captain."

"Separated, yes?" Mitsu raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Gunner answered shortly, slightly miffed that the conman had felt the need to remind him.

"Good. Let's head to Kuiper then and get our seishous recharged. And no more hops for now; I think we've lost any tails we might have picked up when we left Gaia."

Brek nodded, Gunner turned back to his console and Rigo muttered something about pea shooters and redheads but set course for the Belt. From the tower, a wild blast was fired, Kazuya trademark defiance at play. Mitsu smiled to himself. It was good to be on board the _Moirai_ again, surrounded by his ragtag crew. They'd been planetside on Gaia for two weeks longer than planned, even before the kidnapping fiasco, and the conman's body had been fragged from the gravity. Maybe that had been the reason he'd gotten caught so easily in the first place.

Mitsu inhaled lustily. Hai, it was good to be in space again. Now if only the dratted headache would go away…

"Gunn, take over for me? I'm going below to check the cargo."

The three men exchanged knowing glances. They knew what "checking on cargo" meant when their captain used that careless tone. As Mitsu raised the panel and descended the ladder to the lower cargo deck, Gunner yawned, stretched then let his hand casually fall on the com button that transmitted directly to the med bay. The red light blinked off. Brek grinned and palmed the flight deck doors closed while Rigo jumped from his seat to slide the panel back in place.

Ensconced in his gunner tower and still sulking, Kazuya folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, putting both feet against the cannon's controls. "You guys are gonna get caught one day," he hollered down when he heard the panel snick shut and was sure Mitsu was out of hearing range.

"Shut up, Suka!" All three men hollered back in unison.

Beneath the lower cargo deck, half-obscured from the exterior by the _Moirai_'s wide, sweeping wings, was perhaps the best modification to the vessel that Brek had ever fabricated. It had originally been a second gunner pod when Kazuo had been captain, but upon inheriting the ship, Mitsu had decided that it was a useless waste. He didn't have enough skilled gunners – Suka being the only one - to keep the station perpetually manned, and should the crew be embroiled in an unexpected dogfight, the pod was simply too inconvenient to get to.

So Brek had converted the two by two meter area into an observation booth, complete with heavy-duty plastiglass on all four sides for optimum viewing and an automatic plasma shield in case things ever got hairy. The most important feature of the booth, however, was the innovative ventilation system installed especially for Mitsu. The captain had commandeered the area as his own private demesnes when Kazuhiro had declared the _Moirai_ a no-stim vessel, and it was here where Mitsu could indulge in his vice in peace.

_Ah…bliss!_ Fumbling in his vest pocket for the cartridge that had miraculously stayed intact throughout his entire escapade, Mitsu lit a stim and was about to take a deep, satisfying drag when a figure emerged from the shadows.

"You're not planning on smoking that are you?"

"Gods, Hiro!" Mitsu jerked, juggled then ended up dropping the stick anyway. "You scared the holy hell outta me!"

"Good. Then maybe I could scare some sense into you while I'm at it," the medic stepped forward and crushed the stim beneath his boot with disapproval.

Mitsu stared forlornly at the object of his salvation and sighed. "You know, Hiro, I _am_ captain of this ship. I could un-enforce this no smoking policy of yours."

"And then you'd have to find yourself another medic. Is it really worth it?"

"Not really."

The two men exchanged affectionate grins, sharing an old joke. Then Mitsu winced as another shaft of pain thudded against his skull.

_Damn this headache! It just won't go away!_

"What happened to you, little sib?" Kazuhiro's face turned somber.

Mitsu turned away and stared out the observation shield. Rather than calming him as it normally did, the vastness of space and its myriad points of light only filled him with an aching heart sickness.

"They extracted my 'trodes, Hiro." He answered quietly.

Kazuhiro nodded mutely.

"They didn't use any deadeners either. It was…not pleasant."

Kazuhiro remained still although horror etched his face. As a medic, he knew about a patient's need to lance the boil, to vent out the poisonous emotions that, if left unspoken, could fester and derail recovery. As a fellow orgamech who'd been one all his life, he couldn't help the shudder of revulsion he felt at the thought of an extraction gone awry.

"I didn't know what they were up to at first. I just felt this…it was…shit!" Mitsu paused in painful reminiscence and Kazuhiro waited for him to regroup.

"They weren't gentle about it. Like I said, no deadeners. It was almost as if they wanted me to know how much they could hurt me. And when they disabled my wetware…I could feel them frying my port."

A soul-shattering silence.

"Hiro, I can't fix that, can I?"

Mitsu searched the medic's face for the truth then turned away, unable to stand the sorrow and pity in the other man's eyes. He stared down at his hands and realized they were shaking uncontrollably. He stiffened and placed them deliberately on the guardrail that encircled the booth, willing them to stop.

Outside, a cold constellation of stars scudded past indifferently.

Mitsu felt a hand drop on his shoulder and he looked up to see Kazuhiro's reflection in the glass. His eyes were somber but filled with determination. "We'll go to Kuiper. We'll have someone look at you and see if they can't fix…"

"Don't blow sunshine up my ass, Hiro." Mitsu interrupted harshly. "We both know the truth."

Mitsu continued to stare at his strained knuckles as he gripped the metal rail. The roaring in his ears and the erratic thumping of his heart was testimony to the futility he was feeling as the enormity of the situation finally sunk in. He hadn't had the down time to analyze it before and now that he'd been granted some peace to reflect, he wished it were otherwise. In a sick, twisted way, he wished he were still in the middle of a battle or passed out in another holding cell somewhere – anything to help him forget about the emptiness in his head or the hollowing anguish in his stomach.

The hand slipped from his shoulder and hung loosely at the medic's side, defeated. "Will you tell the others?"

Would he tell the others? What would he say? That without his 'trodes, he had no instant access to them or the ship? That this handicap would severely hamper their ability to successfully complete runs in the future? That he felt incomplete, half a man, and this swirling insecurity in his gut could perhaps get someone, if not all of them, killed at a crucial point during a job? How would he tell his men that, without his 'trodes, he was unfit to lead them?

"No. Not yet. Give me time."

"I just don't get it. It doesn't make sense!" Kazuhiro's voice was plaintive, fear and uncertainty making him sound eerily like his younger brother. "Why you? What do the upper tiers want with you? They've never bothered with runners before. Unless…unless what that woman said was true?"

Mitsu whirled around suddenly, his breathing harsh. An ugly scowl twisted his face unrecognizable. Kazuhiro stepped back, alarmed. He'd never seen his friend filled with such murderous rage.

"What did she say?"

Mitsu spoke with frightening softness although a manic glitter danced in his dark violet eyes. Kazuhiro took another step back, mouth parted in a vain attempt to speak.

"What…did…she…SAY?" Mitsu lashed out, fists clenched and veins throbbing at temples. He had stalked the medic with each bitten off word until he was toe to toe with him and he held Kazuhiro frozen under the savagery of his gaze.

The two men locked in tense confrontation, Mitsu seething with ill-restrained violence. Kazuhiro gulped once, making his Adam's apple bobble, but then his professionalism took over. With clinical precision, he noted his captain's domineering stance, so different from his usual devil-may-care slouch. He marked the command in his voice, the cruel sneer on his lips. And he took in the shorn hair that transformed Mitsu from the scrappy, unkempt runner he had been to something new and frighteningly unfamiliar.

Kazuhiro felt himself staring at a stranger and his eyes widened as he finally allowed himself to believe. "My gods, it _is_ true. You are First Family!"

Shinobu sat in the med bay, amused that his only guard was the silent little girl who stared at him curiously from her perch on her favorite stool. His captors knew he was an Empath; if anything, his robes and his ministrations of their captain proved this. But either they trusted him enough because of the care he'd given Mitsuru or they didn't have a very high opinion of the potential danger of an Empath, because setting a child to watch over him seemed paltry defense indeed.

_Poor Morgan. She's stuck with the heavy contingent. I suppose Mitsuru has every reason to treat her like a prisoner. I wonder what else he's told the crew about her? _

At the thought of the blond captain, Shinobu eyes crinkled in puzzlement. When Mitsuru had woken up, not only had he not recognized him, he had absolutely no recollection of their time in the dreamscape together. Morgan had to apprise Mitsuru caustically of Shinobu's identity and his part in the entire escapade. Then Kazuhiro had told his captain that he had been saved at least twice by the Empath. It was probably only this information that had saved Shinobu from the severe sentencing Morgan had received.

Shinobu was certain, from the look of distrust and distaste Mitsuru had given him, that he had almost changed his mind about not locking him up but Rigo had burst into the med bay, babbling something about seishou levels. Mitsuru had immediately risen from the pallet, disregarding Kazuhiro's pleas for him to rest. Barking orders for Morgan to be kept secure and guarded in one of the sleeper bays, the captain exploded from the room, his ship his first priority. His crew followed, dragging a recalcitrant Morgan in tow. As an afterthought, Trout was told to stay and "keep the Empath freak company". Shinobu had still been too stunned from Mitsuru's reaction to him and his apparent amnesia to make much of a protest.

Now, he leaned his elbows on the counter in front of him and propped his chin on clasped hands. Then he attempted a tentative smile at the girl across from him. She shyly offered one back and, had anyone else been in the room, they would have keeled over in shock at the sight. Trout never smiled.

"So, what's your name then, signorina?" Shinobu asked engagingly.

The urchin beamed even brighter, obviously pleased at being treated with such politeness, but she shook her head silently in response.

"Won't talk? Or can't?" Shinobu unconsciously dropped his voice and allowed the full brunt of his charm to envelop his companion.

She responded like a thirsty desert, soaking in his sparkling grey eyes and gently flattering attention. She bounced on the stool, black pigtails flying, and clapped her hands softly. Her smile grew ever wider, revealing a row of tiny white teeth. But still she remained mute.

"Hmmm. This is a problem, isn't it? How are we going to communicate if you can't…" Shinobu peered at the girl thoughtfully then seemed to make up his mind as he leaned back with a resolute frown on his brow. "I have an idea. Do you mind if I…?"

As if anticipating the question, Trout scrambled onto the counter and grabbed hold of his hands, placing them decisively on her head. She nodded once and looked up at him with trusting eyes. Shinobu was taken aback by her immediate comprehension in what he was about to proposition. He also marveled at the complete faith she was showing and hesitated but she patted his hands comfortingly and nodded again.

"You know what I'm going to do? And you're not afraid?" Shinobu gave her one last chance to back out.

Trout held his gaze with stormy blue eyes, demanding that he get on with it. He sighed, then sent a tendril of thought questing into her mind. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced. It looked as if Trout's synapses had been encased in layers of impenetrable film, grown thick and obdurate either through time or lack of usage. It was different from the natural shields he encountered when dabbling in non-Empath minds. This looked deliberate.

Shinobu pulled back in surprise and met Trout's pleading gaze. She _knew_. She knew the block was up and it wasn't her doing. And she was asking him to get rid of it.

"You never wanted this, did you? How long…"

Trout held up three fingers angrily and slapped at his hands which were still resting on her head, urging him to continue.

"Do you know who did this to you?" Shinobu's eyes narrowed dangerously.

She nodded vigorously and pointed to her head, as if daring him to find out for himself.

"All right, then. It might feel strange for a minute, but I think I can get past them. We'll go slowly, shall we? And when I find out who's responsible for this atrocity, we'll have some fun paying him back, won't we?"

The feral smile he gave her was echoed with equal ferocity right back. Shinobu re-entered her mind and started scratching at the edges, careful to peel back each layer gradually for fear that the shock might be too much for the girl. He needn't have worried. For each paper-thin film he discarded, he received the dinning prattle of a ten-year-old who had remained silent for three years. Some of her thoughts amused him with their childlike questions; some made him almost break the connection in anger at what she shared.

Shinobu was so involved in trying to keep up with Trout's incessant chatter that he never realized she was drawing out thoughts from his own mind as efficiently and subtly as an Adept level Empath.

Morgan was pushed none too gently onto the flight deck by a coldly smiling Raffe. When the orders had come over the com requesting her presence on the bridge, the one-eyed man had flashed her an evil smirk rife with retribution. And Rhys, who had opted to join Raffe as guard, more for his sake than Morgan's, had not spared her a sympathetic look. She wondered how much they suspected. Ikeda hadn't said a word about the extraction but Morgan had a feeling her time was up.

"So, le Freya. Any final words before I send your sorry carcass spinning into space?" Mitsu asked her without preamble, his eyes burning with a wild fire.

Even Raffe started at this harsh pronouncement. Rhys stepped up next to her, worried and anxious.

"Captain? Are you sure? I mean, I know she's a Guardian and all, but she did help you escape, right?" The Celt tried to make sense of the unprecedented verdict. He looked around at the rest of the crew. Kazuhiro, to Mitsu's left, wore a forbidding scowl, clearly backing the order. Brek and Gunner also looked as if the justice about to be meted out was justified. Only Rigo and Raffe shared his shock and bewilderment. Up in the gunner tower, Kazuya snored, oblivious to the proceedings.

Mitsu ignored the young man. He traded glares with the woman who actually dared to stare him boldly in the eye, even though her death was imminent. The space between them crackled with threat and menace.

"I was ordered to do it, Ikeda. I was doing my job. But, of course, someone like you wouldn't know about integrity and duty," Morgan lied through her teeth calmly although her palms were cold with sweat. _Please, please, please. I don't want to die yet, _she thought desperately.

"Oh, I've no doubt you were "just doing your job", Commander. And you loved every minute of it, I'm sure." Mitsu grated. "Some sick part of me can even understand that, but forgive me if I don't like people who are so mindless, they'd follow through with orders that were just plain stupid and wrong."

Rhys, Rigo and Raffe looked from one opponent to the other, baffled. There was something missing in the equation, something they weren't privy to, and the way their captain was trembling with rigid control made them wary of interrupting the battle. The other three of the crew stood firm and bleak.

"So just drop me off at the nearest way station, then, Ikeda. Report me to the proper authorities. You don't want to add murder to your rap sheet, do you?" Morgan grasped at straws.

"No. I can't do that," Mitsu ground out. "You see, Commander, you have a bit of information about me that I'd rather remain secret. And having you alive and aware of that information makes you a liability. You're right; I'm no murderer. But who's to know, out here in space? Who's to confirm that you didn't accidentally, in a fit of drunken rage, slam into the airlock and jettison yourself out of this innocent little trading vessel?"

Mitsu stepped forward and seized her shoulders painfully. Violet mesmerized green and Morgan experienced an unfamiliar sinking in her stomach that signaled the dawning awareness of her inevitable demise.

Someone…anyone? Say something! Save me! 

Rhys cleared his throat. Good old Rhys! Morgan swore never to make fun of his blasted sword again. "Captain, I think…"

"Shut up, Ap Dwyyd! This is no concern of yours!" Mitsu ordered, his voice cracking like a whip.

"This _is_ my concern, Captain. She's my kin!" With an amazing show of courage, Rhys faced down the raging stranger that used to be his idol and friend. "And I don't know what she could possibly know or what she could possibly have done to warrant our killing her in cold blood!"

Still gripping Morgan's shoulders, Mitsu swiveled his head to stare down at the Celt. A boiling, irrational hate welled up in him and he bared his teeth ferociously at the younger man. But Rhys held firm.

"Captain…Mitsu…please! Don't do this!"

For a moment, Morgan believed that her cousin's heartfelt plea had gotten through the man's uncontrollable anger. His hold lessened and he seemed to sag with weariness. But then an icy wall slammed over his eyes and his face hardened in firm resolve. The forbidding ruthlessness was even more terrifying than the manic fury.

"Hiro, set the airlock controls."

"NO!"

Morgan bucked violently, trying to release herself from his hold. Raffe and Rhys leaped forward, but whether to save her or help the captain was never to be known. Because at that instant, the _Moirai_ was rocked by the unmistakable blast of laser fire.

"Holy shit!" Kazuya woke up and fell off the gunner seat, banging his head on the cannon's hand grip.

"Where'd that come from?" Brek swiveled around to man his station. Gunner grimly leaped into his seat and checked his readings.

"Rigo? What the hell?" Mitsu abruptly released his captive who fell to her knees in relief. Raffe and Kazuhiro grabbed her and hauled her from everyone's way as the rest of the crew scrambled to battle stations.

"She snuck up on me, Captain. There wasn't even a blink on the scopes!" Rigo turned frantically to his controls and stabbed at the screens. "Unidentified fighter, class unknown. She's fast, Captain. And she's locked and loaded!"

"KAZUYA!" Mitsu roared.

"I'm on it, Mitsu!" Kazuya scrambled back on to his seat and commenced assault.

"No! Stop it, you fool! We don't have enough power to fly and fire at the same time! We're almost at nil energy! If we keep attacking, we'll be dead in space!" Rigo countermanded Mitsu's order even as Gunner and Brek attempted evasive maneuvers.

Laser fire strafed at the ship, frighteningly visible from the flight deck's plas shield. Pilot and copilot dodged as many as they could but the _Moirai_ rocked in protest again as another made contact.

"What the…? There's two? There's two of them!" Rigo yelled.

"I'm on them! I see them!" Kazuya kept firing, ignoring the lights that blinked the dangerous yellow of energy on reserve.

"Dammit, he can't keep shooting! Captain, I'm not kidding around here! If Suka doesn't get them within the next five blasts, we'll be sitting ducks with no power. What do you want to do? Mitsu? Mitsu!" Rigo looked up from his panels, wondering why the man was not barking orders with his usual competence.

Mitsu R'Ikeda stood by the captain's port directly behind Gunner, staring unseeingly out the plas shield. He looked bewildered and lost. And he wasn't 'troded into the ship.

"Mitsu! Snap out of it!" Raffe growled, still holding down a struggling Morgan. The woman ceased squirming at the note of panic in the one-eyed man's voice. Then it hit her; they didn't know.

"Captain, what should we do?" Rigo asked urgently even as another blast caromed off the hull.

The _Moirai_ was slowing down and no amount of fancy flying on Gunner's part was going to change that fact. Suddenly, the interior lights shut down, to be replaced by the eerie red of the emergency reserves. Kazuya was still firing and he had not let out his usual whoop of triumph. There were still two bogies on their tail and they were already drawing power from the reserves cache.

Mitsu was frozen, unable to believe that he'd let his ship get to such dire straits. Had he been 'troded into her, he would have anticipated her every need a split second before she was left wanting. But he no longer had a connection with her. He was blind, deaf and dumb. He was helpless.

And then he felt a tickling in his brain and his mind surged to life again. Almost instantaneously, he found himself jacked into the ship, and she hummed her welcome happily in his synapses. It was shocking, exhilarating…different. Mitsu felt more in tune with the _Moirai_ now than he'd ever had in the past six years and for a brief second, he didn't question it. He just reveled in the sensation of being one with the ship, drunk with power and strength.

He sensed every signal, every pulse, every byte of computerized data that comprised his lady. He recognized the list to the right that spoke of a damaged wing; the sputtering of the engine as she valiantly tried to fly with almost no energy left; the whine of the thrusters as Gunner banked left to avoid another volley of laser fire. In that brief second, Mitsu R'Ikeda _was_ the _Moirai_.

Then the ecstasy waned as she rebuked him for his neglect. With a whispered good-bye, the ship powered down, her seishou generator empty.

"Sonuvabitch!" Kazuya yelled from the tower as his cannon went dead. Then he ducked instinctively as a laser blast pinged against his shield.

"Rigo, do we have enough to manually land m'lady and keep her shields up at the same time?" Mitsu asked sharply.

"Aye, Captain."

"Gunn, can she do it?"

"It'll be rocky without stabilizers, but if Rigo can get her landing gear operational, I may just get us out of this alive."

"Good. Rigo, where…?"

"Unnamed colony right below us, Captain. I think that's where the bogies came from. They may just have been protecting their own."

"Doesn't matter. I'd rather take my chances being shot at planetside; at least I'll have a fighting chance. And I don't want to risk m'lady anymore. Let's do it, Gunn."

"Hang on, then, boys and girls. This is gonna be one helluva ride!"


End file.
